


Security

by natalexx



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: F/M, Post-Serenity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-09
Updated: 2007-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalexx/pseuds/natalexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In the space for uncertainty, there is hope for River.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by jazzfic (on Livejournal), who was very patient with sometimes unconventional grammar. Title inspired by the Joss Stone song.

Jayne hovers at her side, falling behind Zoe’s marching stride. “Got no call to spread tales ‘bout what happened yesterday, girlie,” he says. River raises an eyebrow, looks him up and down. She is silent.

“Come on now, River. You’re the one crawlin’ around inside the ship. Ain’t my fault you ain’t normal. I don’t go sneakin’ around and peekin’ at nobody by my own self.”

He watches the grass, uncomfortably. Little sprouts of tiny weeds, not very green. Glares at her out of the corner of his eyes. On the cusp of embarrassment; makes him mean. She smiles.

“Keep your gun in sight and bite your lip.” She judges his reaction; thinks she understands, the line between things there to see for anyone and things only she can.

He blinks at her. "Now that's just--that ain't right," he stammers, thinking about the air duct over his own bunk.

She shrugs. "Seen it all before," she says simply.

Horrified, he won't be able to undress in his bunk for a week. She doesn’t think that’s too long to make him suffer. He thought she could hurt _Serenity_ , play games with her insides, make them all fall out of the sky. The air ducts are her conduit and she must learn; there is no wrong way to gather information. “I’m no gorram fool,” she tells him. This is anger. Makes him look away from her, makes him embarrassed: different from seeing Kaylee and Simon naked and flush. Seems appropriate.

She skips ahead of Jayne, to concentrate: she has to get it right; has to earn her keep like she promised Mal. Newhall is a beautiful planet with hills and trees, but the wind is empty of music and River doesn’t like it. In the void beyond her physical sight, in the blank between what has happened and what must come, something is lurking. Something means the job won't go smooth for Mal. One minute she can't see it; next she knows, but more importantly she knows that she must hurry. It’s not right to steal Zoe’s gun from her holster, but it must be done; River may hurt her bare feet not watching for rocks as she runs up the grassy knoll, but Simon must be convinced that it was more important to interrupt before the man shoots the captain.

Zoe and Jayne stop short at her side; River hands Zoe her gun back. The wind is still forlorn, but River finds she doesn’t share its emptiness. Mal climbs up off the ground in the shallow ravine below them and dusts off his pants, looking up at them all the while.

“You all right?” Zoe calls down.

“Am now,” Mal replies. “Like to part my hair with that one, darlin’,” he says to River. Reaction is necessary, and she smiles, because Mal smiled up at her, squinting from the sun but not imminent death. "Well." He turns back to their contract buyer. "Now that my business associates are here to keep us company, what was that you were about to enlighten me about as to the terms of our bargain?"

Zoe's expression is hard; she fingers her weapon like she has half a mind to use it. She meets River's eyes but they don't have to share words. River understands. If Mal wasn’t living, she’d just stop. Might be a world without hope in it now, but she has to find meaning somewhere; elsewise there’s nothing: dark and empty. Like the blackness of space without a ship to cleave to.

But they have a deal to make, and no more options. Ain’t no man can finagle a double-deal back to straight and narrow like Mal. She knows as well as Zoe; they exchange the thought momentarily, eye to eye. Makes River think, maybe, this is what it’s like. Not like being a girl, confident that she’s able to leap beyond all explanation; no need to write things down, because she already sees the answers. Knowledge always available; long as it was in reach she could understand—everything except Simon and his bookish ways and late night study groups and nervous habits before he passed another exam. Here on the edge, nothing precise and accurate. And this is being womanly, maybe, seeing random system patterns, bits and pieces; leaving room for rapid alterations and paradox, predictions that follow the wrong order, mismatched thoughts and behavior. Uncertainty. Constant. Reading comes easy, but learning doesn’t after all. Tests with no time to prepare, like this; she’s always got to be ready. She looks to Zoe and sees her turn her back without acknowledgement, no need to fuss; River did right, River’s reliable. She saved Mal, maybe—changed what happened, probably—the future never tells. It makes her feel right: that here in this moment, she didn’t fail. Always been a good student. Never needed to study so hard.

*

“Looks like we’re bound for New Phoenix,” Mal announces, satisfied, striding up the ramp to the cargo hold of _Serenity_. "Think we might put out the word we're accomodatin'."

"Hm," Zoe halts across from him, setting her feet. "Or we could look for something else to haul."

Mal cocks his head at her. "Think we ought to steer clear of passengers? Lucrative business."

"Trouble-making, too."

"You can say that again." Jayne looks at River.

She sets her feet like Zoe and turns her shoulders so only Jayne can hear. "I'll tell." Jayne's eyes flicker big, then he looks away.

"Least-wise, are you sure we want to recruit on New Hall?"

Mal shrugs. "Don't have a real pick o' of the litter on this one, Zoe. Got us a plan in mind and a new direction, but we still got three bunks empty for no good. This ship needs to be filled with whatever's paying and there ain't no way around."

Zoe glances away. "Might put Simon and Kaylee on the scoutin'."

"And I reckon I’ll have to go separate them from whatever it is they're doing," Mal sighs. "For now, we have a few hours to spend lookin' for honest work, cargo that needs hauling to New Phoenix, while Inara's keeping her appointment."

"What happens if we can't find what's honest?" Jayne asks.

Mal glances at Zoe; ain’t in his mind to ignore what has to be done, but no harm in shying from what cuts too close to her heart. She meets his gaze head on, mind blank as her face. Mal turns away, and Zoe moves on. "Jayne, let's go."

"Why I gotta go?" Jayne protests, just inside the shelter of the ship. "I'd rather be on the team that rousts out the good doctor.” He moves with intent just the same, follows directions. "At least let me get my guns!"

Mal looks down at River. "There somethin' needs tellin', darlin'?"

She grins. "No. All talk."

"Found a way to keep Jayne on the upright, that don’t involve slashin,' I can't hold it against you. Don't want to see you two come to bloodshed anymore."

River nods somberly. "I heed. I understand."

Mal's lips curve up gently. "Good to hear, sweetheart."

River bites her lips to keep from looking proud. She pleases him. "Can I come with you?"

"You ought to help your brother an' Kaylee, weed out the rough types. Scout the candidates for trouble." He steps toward her, puts his hand on her shoulder. "Have some dinner. That dress is about to fall off your shoulders." He steps back down the ramp, past her.

"Too big already," River says softly, watching him leave. No passengers to be had, nor no cargo neither. They’ll make do with what they got, have to hope the job’s still waiting in New Phoenix. She doesn’t tell him, though. Wants to be wrong; it’s a new hope in surprises. "Not made for me.”

*

New Phoenix is hot; a dry, prickly heat. River's hands grip the controls gently, and she knows something's wrong 'cause she's all knotted up inside. Is it the ship? Is it what's waiting? Is it her breakfast?

She eases just a foot above the landing portal, giving herself time to think it over, time waiting on _Serenity_ to let her know if she wants to back out before it's too late. Mal waits patiently. "All right, Albatross?" he asks quietly.

"Likes to flirt a little before she gives it up," River replies.

Mal winces. "Hope to my Aunt Fanny you're talkin' 'bout the ship. Odd though it may seem."

 _Serenity_ eases in, pressing snug into the land-lock. River frees the toggle switch, waiting for the ship to settle. Mal leans forward to release the pressure and she grabs his hand. She means to make him wait, but as her mind jumps through the next steps in the landing, she sees something. "Not a mean man, just has his ways set." She looks up at Mal. "Selective when he works with people. Tell him you're a family business."

Mal appraises her silently for a moment, looking her in the eyes. She feels confusion, letting him see right inside. "You do, occasionally, come in downright handy, darlin'." He leans forward and she lets him hit the pressure switch, opening up the port air flow.

She considers. "Handy gadget," she repeats.

"Best compliment I know to give, darlin'," he calls over his shoulder as he leaves.

She looks down at her hands, scrutinizes them for their purpose. To have use; to be practical, and able to work. Strong in pieces, strong as a whole. They’re good hands.

Kaylee and Zoe nearly collide in the hatch to the cargo bay. "Thought the Captain didn't want to work with cattle no more," Kaylee murmurs. There's more behind her words, in her tentative eyes, and her fear to reach out. Girl can't look at Zoe without thinking of her loss, and Zoe knows it.

"Near enough to having no choice now, _mei-mei_ ," Zoe replies. Her choice of grief is ignorance. It don’t make no difference to her now, anyway, how other people react. Does her job, same as always, but Mal worries—and she lets him; somehow that's worse. Mal's never been much good, when it comes to cleaning up a mess. Zoe used to provide a steadiness to the ship, but no longer. She wobbles, has to run her hands along the gangplank; needs to hold on to something, and _Serenity_ is all that’s left.

Kaylee watches her anxiously, arms folded tightly, setting herself at the top of the steps out of danger, like Mal always insists. River stands at her side for a moment; she still feels necessary. She slips around the other girl and down the steps before Kaylee can protest.

“A man who makes his living as a wanderer tends to be disreputable.” The new voice rings louder than River’s feet. "We've been hassled enough for one life time, unreliable types and men of shifty character. Business partnerships are the closest bond I make outside of marriage, and I put a good deal of stock in a man with a good foundation. I look at the character of a man first, before I put any worth in his organization. You say you're a family man yourself?"

Mal's determined to make this deal; has to, has to feed his people, his ship. Would lie, but something about "family man" makes him hesitate. Mal opens his mouth. River stops beside him. "As you can see," Zoe says instead, nodding her head at the others. "Unconventional, but family the way it counts."

"You're not related, then?" Mark Mattherson doubts, puts pieces together to make a picture that isn’t nice.

River smiles brilliantly. Knows the answer. She nods at Simon, standing nearby, looking wary. "My brother."

Mattherson smiles back. Can't help it; he likes her looks. Fresh face, not overly adorned. Clean green dress, wears it natural-like with no ornaments. Reminds him of his wife. Watches River step up to Mal’s side, slip her hand under his arm. Mal glances at her.

The man raises his hat over his brow, in a show of respect. "Good morning, ma'am. Pardon me for my manners. It sure is nice to see family working together. It’s become less and less common.”

"Have to hold onto what family you got; create a family with what you don't," River offers.

"Amen to that," Mattherson exclaims, still with a smile. "Well, sir.” He whips his hat against his hand and replaces it. “Maybe we can do business. I’m short handed this season.” He nods. “My wife and I would invite y’all to stay back at the ranch until the job’s done, and soon as the cattle are back and branded, I’ll be needing them transported and I’ll sure take a look at those buyers you brought me.”

Mal nods, snapping back to the terms. “If I take your meaning correctly, you’ll be expecting me and my people to work on this cattle drive, then, Mr. Mattherson?”

“That’s the size of it, son. If you and yours can’t butt an extra three or so of my empty saddles, you might as well turn tail now. You ride range with my crew and me during this drive, help us bring our herd back over the ridge of those mountains, I’ll provide rations for riders and keep for them that aren’t fit for the trip. I can guarantee you a fair wage for riding with me.”

Mal clears his throat. “Zoe?” He casts a glance to his right.

“Sounds doable, sir,” she replies, unmoved.

“Well, we’ll talk it over up to the ranch,” Mattherson says. “I know my Mindy would sure enjoy meeting you and your little wife, Mr. Reynolds.”

"My wife? My wife," Mal repeats, hurriedly. He looks again at Zoe, and she takes a step backward: not getting involved.

"New wife," says River. "Brand new, really."

"Is that so?” Mr. Mattherson grins. “Well, you’re all invited. I’d sure like to hear more about how you do your work, sir.”

Mal nods, clearing his thoughts: there’s work to be had, and that’s all. "Just point the way, Mr. Mattherson. My crew’s more’n ready for some leisure.”

"It's just on the far west side of town, can't miss it. We got acres of pipe fencing." Mattherson turns to go. "Be looking forward to seeing all of you, don't be late, y'hear?"

Mal clenches his jaw, watching Mattherson walk away. Have to get the contract. Have to make money, have to eat. He looks at River, furrows his brow. Takes her hand off his arm, carefully.

River looks up at him innocently. "Just play-acting."

Simon blurts out, “River! Haven’t we talked about playing and reality? You can’t—“

Zoe purses her lips. "He did seem to take a shine to River, sir."

"You really gonna lie to the man, Captain?" Kaylee asks, doubtful. Looks at River, thinks she might be confused, might throw the plan off.

"Won't hurt nothin', little Kaylee," Mal says, though it prickles the hair at the back of his neck. Don’t like trickery and deceit. Man likes to be upfront about things, feelings and meaning and his deeds. "We get the job, we do it. Don't have a thing to do with whether or not I got a wife or the man thinks we’re decent."

Simon swallows. "I don't think I like this."

River doesn't look away from Mal. "Not for you to say."

Mal's gaze turns on her. "You behave."

She tilts her head and raises her left hand. "Hand's naked. Need a ring."

*

Plenty to do around the ranch, too, so Simon stays and finds new patients, and Kaylee promises to keep an eye on the ship—help Simon, more like, get in the way, but enjoy herself, so Mal just nods at this. Mindy Mattherson is the rancher’s wife and she’s riding like the rest of them, playing cook and turning her hand gentle on the camp, setting the tone for the hired men. "I'm going, too," River insists. Simon starts to raise his objections, but Mal shakes his head.

"Far as I know, River, you don't know much about riding herd."

"Match your steps, watch for strays. Have a soft seat, won't fall behind. I want the black one,” she requests, gazing over the horses circling the corral. No thought for the future; waiting to be assigned.

Mal exchanges a look with Zoe; she shrugs. "Let the girl ride. Do a sight better than Jayne, I reckon. Earn an extra pay."

Mal nods. “Well, let’s see.”

“River...” Simon pulls at her arm.

“Bodies are made to bend," River replies. "More useful. Have to practice. Once a week...or more often.” She looks at her brother knowingly. “Never had to saddle my own, never had to care for him when he was ailing. Not really mine. No hard work."

Simon sighs, releases her arm. “You really loved riding lessons, didn’t you,” he remembers. She grins, and ducks inside the white fence.

Mal watches her scamper toward him, holding the black horse. "Got some breeches, darlin'?"

She stops to look the animal in the eye, say howdy, exchange scent. She glances at Mal over the forelock. “Could wear yours.”

“Think so, do you?” Mal doesn’t look impressed, and River tucks her head into the horse’s neck.

“Maybe not. Too big to fit.”

Mal raises an eyebrow. “Hesitate to ask whether you’re referring to me or the britches, but I s’pect we can find you something in town.” He glances at Simon, glances at his clenched fists. “Safe enough, I ‘magine.”

"What if it isn't?" River counters.

"Stay close to me," Mal suggests.

"Always."

River ponders his face, casual say-so, just a passing thought. Another obligation, have to outfit the girl. Obligation. Take money from a man and you were bound to him, like it or not. “Think you have to take care of me, Captain?” she murmurs, softly, rubbing her lips against the horse’s muzzle. The horse likes her. They get along fine.

Mal shifts his weight to his other leg and lets the horse duck its head lower to the ground; lazy and content in the heat. Reads the horse like she reads the man. Sometimes things surprise you, though, so he still holds tight on the halter as he meets her eyes. “Reckon that’s my job, sweetheart. Take care of my crew. You’re part of my crew, ain’t ya?”

She nods quickly. “Yes, Captain.”

He nods back, shortly. Moving on to the next thing; not the time to stop and talk over subjects best taken for granted; not time to linger over a thought about Simon, what would happen should her brother get a damn-fool idea in his head about moving on.

Still, River smiles peacefully, because Simon’s happy—not content, but happy, not always looking for the next thing—and she’s crew like anyone else. Mal asked, didn’t tell, and she knew the right answer when he posed the question. Passed the test.

River curls her hand in the mare's black mane, calculating the angle and force to jump up from the ground. Mal hoists her, one-legged, saddle hard between her bare legs, skirt riding far up her thigh. Mal raises his face to hers, eyes in the sun. She leans down to throw a shadow, watching it fall over his face; leans her cheek against the withers.

“What makes you so happy, little one?” Mal asks, looked startled with his face so close, so sudden-like.

She rolls her cheek against the horse’s hide. “Happy is a momentary lapse of anxiety. Caused by warm sun, horse smell, your pretty eyes. Enjoying the moment.”

His eyebrows raise. “Pretty?” His voice goes dry and smirking like it does when he mocks compliments by teasing. She puts her hand on the back of his neck, hot—too hot, he would burn there, pink skin unused to planetside weather—sweaty around his collar and under his hair, and kisses him firmly at the very center of his forehead, sweaty there, too, felt the slight curve of his skull and brushes the raised eyebrows as she pulls away.

“Lapse of anxiety,” she repeats. “You should try it sometime.” Sits up, high on the horse, fingers twisted close to the root of the long, rough hair. Mal’s fingers graze her bare thigh. Affection, kindness: can be shared.

*

Simon would try to help her, if he knew. He doesn’t, though, and this is something River must know for herself. Mother used to give her endless bottles of things, different scents, offered lessons—what this scent said, why a girl should smell of musk and citrus or sandalwood and lavender, age appropriate. River attended tea parties artfully arrayed and came home mussed, asked for new books instead of gloves or heels on her boots. Her hair went tangled and her clothes immodest, never so bad as they are right now, rough tangles that don’t come out with a brush. Does her hair say something about her that’s false? Her shapeless dress, her new pants cinched around the waist under a button-front shirt. Only thing she cares about are her great big boots—Mal’s choice.

Simon at the door, softly tapping. “Come in, Simon. I’m not naked.”

He slides the door softly, pokes his head in sheepishly. "How are you doing, _mei-mei_?" Forced to ask these questions now that he spends so much time away from her. She knows he hates it. Makes him feel incompetent. He's always been that way: can't focus on two things. Moment by moment, solves problems methodically.

"Better than some, not as relaxed as you."

Simon's gaze flutters away from hers quickly, then back. He clears his throat. "That's not exactly an appropriate conversational topic between brothers and sisters, River."

She makes a face. "'Proper way to do' is stiff. Jokes are more fun." She smirks.

Simon stares at her.

"Found something else you're good at," she teases.

Simon clenches his jaw and wards off a blush. He must be very determined, only way it would work. "River, I don't-- back home, we wouldn't--"

She puts her hand over his mouth, barely touches his face with the tips of her fingers. "There's no going back. Only forward. Home is where we put it."

His eyes flicker. She frowns, confused. "You aren't happy."

"No, I am..." Simon's instant denial falls like pebbles in a stream. _Plop, plop._

"Always looking forward, never quiet where he is," River says. Her voice falls. "Does it ever get better?"

Simon runs his hand through the hair behind her ear, looking at her seriously. "I'm sorry, River. _*You*_ are happy. That makes me happy."

"Can't help it, Simon. I know what else could have happened."

He pauses. "You mean--before. With the Operative."

She looks at him, picturing his words and what they encompass: pain and loneliness, being hopeless or passive. Death. Her eyes fill with tears. "Might not get better. Might get worse," she whispers. "Right now it isn't." She grasps his hand on her cheek. "Now no one's dying. Now no one is in pain." Her eyes look off into the distance. _Serenity_ encompasses them, below and around and above their heads. _Serenity_ forgets the bad things once she’s flown past. "We're still flying."

"You sound an awful lot like the Captain," Simon says, looking right past the point.

"Good person to sound like," River replies.

Simon smiles faintly. He drops his hand and starts folding her things. Her room is a mess. "You have to go to an awfully bitter place to feel that way, _mei-mei_. And, apparently, one where you stop picking up after yourself. We have no maids on this ship, River."

"It was an experiment."

Simon looks at her without raising his chin. "A _*scientific*_ experiment?" He gets up and starts putting things away. She says nothing and watches at he makes stacks of her dresses. The yellow one, the red one, the black on top. He folds the drawer back into the wall with care; turns back with a serious face. "How long did it take me to notice?"

River shrugs.

"Look, River...just because I'm spending a lot of time with Kaylee, that doesn't mean I'm not here for you. I'll drop anything to listen if you need me, you know that, right?"

"Don't be stupid, Simon," River says. "Not jealous. I have my own things to do," she reminds him impatiently.

Simon raises his eyebrows and grimaces. "Yes..." His disapproval flares bright and angry before her eyes, much louder than he intended.

"Don't ruin it, Simon," River warns him. "It's not the season." She drops her brush, lets it fall where it may, lets Simon’s mind change the subject as he watches. Her brother may keep his thoughts, may worry and wonder what to say. Without action, emotion is invalid. Nullified. Made nothing. Her brother came for her and her parents did not. Her brother sleeps with Kaylee and Mal stays away from Inara. Quantifiers which add up to some result--but the answer is not always predictable. “It’s time for a last breakfast,” she adds, and leaves him there, in her room, staring at the brush, wondering if it’s his job to do it for her or his job to let her make her own choices. He follows after a moment, and she wonders—but not too long. Kaylee joins them on their way, lighting up like always when she sees Simon.

Lust and romance and kissing and sex were abstract concepts River's whole life up 'til now. First there was no interest, nothing compelling about any of it—trash on the cortex that didn’t seem very titillating, friends of her brother who teased, talked about breasts, tried to be manly when they pulled on the hem of her dress—then there was Academy, and everything after. Love. She loves _Serenity_. She loves her brother. When she presses her chest to the floor in the air duct, stretches herself out on her belly, she presses her lips to cold metal and re-evaluates the value of knowledge—book knowledge, taught without love. She would have no life now if Simon had not love. Still out of her reach, though—the different kinds, Inara and her clients; Zoe and Mal; Simon and Kaylee; like _Serenity_ , she observes but does not comprehend.

Mal and Zoe and Jayne sit around the table, and Mal eyes the hash. “This all we can scrounge up in the face of our good fortune?” he demands, not with rancor. “Looks like Jayne sat in it again.”

Kaylee giggles. “We’ll be eatin’ fine soon as you all leave us, staying up at the big house. Simon’s managed to make himself real important to the household, doctoring and fine manners and all.” She leans into Simon for a moment, sliding her hand around his backside and tilting her face up like she’d give him a kiss, if only he’d lean down closer. Her fingers dragging across his shirt leave scars, imprint too close to the surface of his skin, how far they could go and have gone before. River sits down hard and Mal glances at her.

Simon looks embarrassed and clears his throat. “I haven’t had a lot of mending to do around here lately, fortunately.”

Jayne stabs a biscuit, watching them, scowling. "T'aint right to ruin a man's breakfast. Do your sexin’ in your own bunk."

“Ain’t doin’ nothin’, Jayne,” Kaylee squeals, pulling Simon down onto the bench with her. "Anyhow, sex over breakfast has never bothered you before."

"That was when I was the one bein' sexed," Jayne grumbles. He washes back a spoonful of mushy protein and gulps. "Way I see it, the men on this ship is outnumbered an' only one of us is seein' service. Just ain't right." He shakes his head mournfully.

"Mathematically correct," River speaks up. "Someone should service Jayne. Make him feel better."

"River!" Simon is aghast.

"What? Endorphins."

Jayne looks pleased by her support. "You wanna volunteer, little girl?"

"Hey," Simon and Mal say sharply. Around the edges, their table stirs.

River smiles to herself. She rolls her eyes up to Jayne's face, seeing his thoughts are shapeless, the problem not fully-formed. "Touch me and die," she admonishes him quietly. "Not meant for you."

Simon’s concern washes over her briefly: not meant for him, must be meant for someone else; thoughts about the future, quickly shoved aside by Kaylee’s laugh and left in River’s head instead. She stares at Jayne—he won’t meet her eyes, not quite—and wonders what makes a man a different sort of subject to a girl from one day to the next. There are no separate factors, just different feelings and different actions. Just moving parts.

*


	2. Chapter 2

The land is vast; goes on for miles in all directions. The cattle wander, further rather than near, by instinct not desire, the grass calling them ever on. Will take days to find them all; stragglers miles upon miles distant. Mal’s eyes trace the ridges of the hills; and he sees thunder in the clouds, a familiar sight. He sits different in the saddle out here.

They ride up to the others, clustered around distracted with preparation, remnants of their own goodbyes back at the ranch; Mattherson introduces them: “Men, this is Malcolm Reynolds and his Missus, and first mate from his ship. I’ve hired them on for the drive and they’ll be taking deliveries on the hoof for me after.”

There are a few nods, a few men size up Mal and his women; Mal takes account of the other riders and sinks his boots deep in his stirrups, taciturn and distant. River pushes at her hat with the palm of her hands and catches his attention. “Meant to keep the sun out, not you in, Albatross,” he murmurs, lips draped around a long stalk of straw. “Leave it be.”

“Why don’t you have one, then?”

Mal smiles briefly. “Reckon they were out of my size, darlin’.” He reaches over and taps her broad-brimmed hat back onto her forehead. “Keep hold of those reins. Even a range horse can get tetchy ‘round stirred-up cattle.”

“I’ll remember,” River says, quieting the thought before it cements in Mal’s mind. He meets her eyes, nods once, and lets it drop there, in the dust beneath the hooves.

He’s got enough to think about, head full of thoughts about how long they might be gone; wonder would Jayne keep a sharp enough eye for Simon and Kaylee as well as him. He’s mistrustful, same as Zoe, looking around at the men. River keeps to her seat and he has no need to worry about her. 

Mattherson bellows loud enough to fill the valley in the early dusk. “Everybody! Butt those saddles and move on out! We’ve got land to cover before day breaks and first barbeque of the season to round up before we next see home!”

River’s glad she’s holding her reins tightly; her heart leaps in her chest as the men whoop and spur their horses; the great rush spreads across all of them. River’s eyes open wide, feeling the vibration from deep inside her mount; no way to stop her, pull back, without tearing out the piece of soul that connects horse to rider. Mal and Zoe cluck gently and somehow they move together; the three of them a tiny fortress washing along at the same pace.

River’s hair flows straight out behind her head—they go so fast—and her hat catches by the string under her chin and she laughs because there is no thought, just her fingers wrapped securely around the reins, knees tucked tight against the saddle, Mal near to her right side, and only movement in the space between.

*

They ride hard and fast, their sleep dreamless, and they are two days and miles into Mattherson acreage when they cross the first steer. After that, they move slowly; endless circling, encouraging the strays; bedding down before dark. Mal and Zoe take shifts night riding; always insisting that River stay close to one or the other, especially at night. River spends nights with her eyes open, staring up at the stars, listening to the breath exhaled across the camp, sometimes quiet talks, sometimes Mal and Zoe exchanging words when they trade off in the night. Always on guard, even when they’re not assigned. Soon enough River realizes Mal’s awake as often as her. 

He smiles slightly, eyes catching the moonlight, when he first meets her open eyes in the darkest part of night. “Darlin,” he murmurs, voice softer than she would have ever thought. “Girl your size ought to be dead tired after a day in the saddle. What you doing with your eyes open wide?”

River turns her head slowly, not sure how to respond. She does feel tired, a slow lethargic tiredness, not restless like she gets sometimes in the sky. “Tired enough I don’t mind lying down,” she whispers back.

He shakes his head. “Ain’t getting much rest.”  
“You neither.”

“Well, I’m an old man, sweetheart—“

“No you’re not.” She frowns, scrunches up her nose and feels the cold seeping into her blankets from the ground. “I’m cold,” she adds.

Mal considers her for a moment, in silence, and she can’t make a guess as to what his response is until he speaks it: “Reckon so,” he agrees, the chill cutting through his brown coat just as well as her blankets. “Well, spread your roll on up here, girl, might as well share what warmth we have.”

She scoots up quickly, tucks herself into Mal’s hip—his left side, away from his gun hand, without being asked—sprawls with her legs near his, and feels warm and comfortable the moment she arranges herself. “Quiet your thoughts, little River,” Mal says, with a hand on her shoulder, letting it rest there. “Waste of a perfectly good night.”

She smiles slightly, feels his thumb brush against her cheek, calloused and dry. “I don’t have nightmares anymore, Mal.”

Mal’s silent for a time; his stomach seizes up inside him, thinking of what they lost and the price of things to come; then he shines with brilliant pleasure, glad of this at least; not a thing to take for granted, as he knows well enough. “Glad to hear that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice a growl, thick with something she can’t quite pinpoint in the night sounds.

She pushes up slowly, careful not to move his arm, and kisses Mal on the cheek. He gazes at her from the corner of his eye, half his expression strange in the shadowy light. "What's the significance of all this kissing, young River?"

She looks back at him impassively, close to his face. "Physical affection is necessary to the survival of the human race," she says decisively. "Doesn't have to mean anything. Thank you," she adds, and slides back down to tuck her head into his shoulder.

She sleeps and wakes only when the last of Mal’s warmth evaporates, and she gets up to catch first light.

*

They camp three long days before they can forge the river, swollen with rain and muddy on the bottom. Some men have been watching River; she’s aware of it, same as Mal; feels it in a nervous way on the inside, not afraid but uncertain. How does a girl handle a boy? Can’t kill him like Reavers. Can’t shoot them with a gun. Can’t kick them in their baby-making parts like Simon’s friends who used to yank her hem and tease her flat chest.

River thinks: it’s easier being a married woman than a girl. Limited variables. Peaceful. She walks to the camp freely; stops in at the cook’s wagon and watches closely before she offers to help. Mindy Matheson looks more pleased than simple suggestion merits. So at night River dismounts and leaves Mal to see to the horse, and Mindy tells River all sorts of things about married life—thinking she’s among understanding company and River telling her no different; about living on a ranch during the long hours spent hauling pots and keeping fires alive. Much more to cooking when it’s real food and not protein from a bin; Mindy’s done such work all her life and plans to go on after. River asks, “You never wanted another way of life?” And Mindy replies that the land is her, part of her husband, and she won’t part from it anymore than from him. She smiles, in a way that tells River that she’s found her own serenity.

River’s not so naive as to think that’s normal.

*

A man can grow restless with his job deferred. Mal, too, but he doesn’t eye River across the sparks of campfire, eyes running across her shirtfront, her long tumbled hair heedless to hide behind. River curls up at Mal’s side and contemplates what drives a man, inside, to size up a woman—girl—someone like her. “What’s a matter, darlin’?” Mal whispers next to her ear. He’s been talking to Zoe, not paying much attention—just enough.

She shakes her head against his shoulder. “Don’t be tellin’ me nothing,” he protests. She stares at the dirt near the fire, not quite in it, too hot for her eyes; she knows the ground must get hot as well, only the space between keeping it from burning. 

“’Nother man’s wife,” she murmurs. “It’s not right.”

“What?” His shoulder twists, catches her hair. She reaches up to tug it away from him, meet his hands untangling her from his buttons. Too long, can't remember what to do; can’t work together to keep a body up, not like a ship. "It's all right, I've got it," he murmurs. Mal holds her hair with one hand and releases the knot with his other, so it doesn't pull on her head. Gentle.

“It’s a gift. Meant to guard it. Woman’s job; man’s to respect that.” She frowns, tilts her head back so she can peer over the cup of his hands on her head. “A man can sell himself in many ways, but woman defiles herself through the ages in just one special way.”

Mal pauses there, hands in hair. Familiar words, wrong woman. “You been rootin’ around where you don’t belong again, River?”

She frowns, too caught up; trying to reach out and grasp it, this revelation; something inside his head that makes sense inside hers but it’s all jumbled. “Important. I know it is. I never understood, why girls dressed and danced, why a girl sheds tears when she’s been ripped apart by men who want her brain to work. Didn’t know what it meant, thought there’d be time to learn. Then I was broken.”

Mal’s thumb crosses her lips, stopping the flow of words, but not the images. Wanted school, books, learning, not boyfriends. Man and woman equals babies, she knows that; it’s science, nothing more. It's all a confusion: something his mama said—sex is a gift, something holy between a man and his wife. No matter what anyone else might say, this is something you respect. A woman is polluted by selling herself, a woman like Inara, who doesn’t treat it precious but plays a game and calls it a job. It is deceitful, yet he loves her—her, not her acts. There’s a difference, but how is she to handle it?

Knows the 'verse has changed. Wants some things to remain the same.

“This ain’t the time to be spouting your wisdom for all and sundry, River,” Mal says, serious now. She blinks: there he is. Physical manifestation, flesh and blood, fingers on her face.

The girl can see what lurks behind, but his fingers still have their effect. The girl is vulnerable, broken and survived, protected by her brother's last breath. And when he was the one broken, laying on the ground, their champion nowhere in sight, the girl learned to protect him. “You waited for backup in _Serenity_ ,” River whispers. “Still waiting.”

“Right, time for bed.” Mal shifts, getting to his feet and pulling her up.

She nods, rising with him. “Doesn’t make you weak.”

“Never said it did, darlin’.”

“Not you. Me.” Holding her hand to guide the way, it doesn’t matter that the others watch them. She understands. The girl can be a woman, actual and whole. Requires belief, hers to convince the others. A moment encapsulates the whole, his hand around her waist like the future; someday he’ll look her in the eye and believe—trust—and she will hold him up just like he is holding her now. Understands what’s in his mind like a woman does, and this is how it’s meant to be. Faith, like the Shepherd said. Meaning it takes time.

*

"Ride easier if you've got boots on, little Albatross." Mal tosses her saddle over the black mare, one-handed, still sleepy; he’d tell himself catching a few winks in the saddle works just as well, but then he never would.

She shakes her head. "Can't talk to her. Leather doesn't conduct," she insists. He yanks the straps tight, walks around, sets the girth up another hole, turns to her and puts his hands around her waist. She smiles. And his hands send shivers up her bare legs when she settles her seat. He checks the stirrup, like always, putting her foot back under her knee.

Zoe's watching and drinking the last of the coffee, down to the bitters. River makes a face watching Mal toss the grounds and stow their mugs in the saddlebag, and then she wonders how he'd taste. "I expect keeping your feet shod is part of your brother's idea of looking after."

River smiles, leans down and buries her face in the mane. Real horse, sweat that smells like dirt and manure, not conditioned perfume and bug spray. This one likes to run with the bay, can't be left alone with too much hay or she'll eat herself sour. Never lazy when she's with her friends; temperamental in foal. Knows to stay with the leader, knows how to follow, to follow more than just her own instincts.

"'Magine what the good doctor don't know won't hurt him, Zoe," Mal replies. "Girl's doing just fine."

"You used to ride, River?" Zoe asks, emptying the tin cup in the weeds.

River shrugs. "This one follows the other one," she replies, nodding at Mal. "Boss mare."

Mal turns his head across his shoulder. "You just call me a what?"

Zoe laughs, forgets for a moment, like the beat of a heart, and when it comes back, it's sharp. She looks away. Mal looks past her, meets River's eyes, and River's surprised. Doesn't happen often, but she hasn't realized 'til now that when it's Zoe, when it's like this, he feels her the way that River's senses reach far beyond herself. Isn't how he'd say it, but his eyes reflect Zoe's pain.

"You stay close today, River. Keep in our sights," Zoe speaks up, climbing into the saddle. "Don't much care for the way that drover's been watching. Last thing we need is trouble on this trip."

River says nothing. She knows when she's being watched; it’s been the same one since the first day—creepifying man, with drool in his mouth and dirt on his cheeks. "Like tribes," River says, sitting up. "Pick out what's different so they can stay the same."

"Something like that." Mal swings a leg over and gathers up his reins.

Zoe keeps an eye on their surroundings, as always. Doesn't know what to do with herself when she doesn't have that. River rides on the other side of Zoe, and lets her be. River's busy watching—watching where they ride and not the riders, watching the grass and the land. Up on _Serenity_ , she knows plenty of people; there’s much to keep her busy on one small ship; here, the landscape's rare and more interesting. She can't pick the voices she hears but she can pick the ones she listens to, and she follows Mal or Zoe, horse by horse, they guide the cattle, eat dust, leather between their fingers, muscle flexed between her thighs; riding feels brand new; means something else. She sits deep and rolls while the horse moves; not reaction but together, timing's always been good but now the horse is in her head, they're the same, crossing hills and plains, the boss is at their back and the cattle know they're there. It's enough, and it's close enough to flying that she feels Mal's heart in her hands. She's gentle with her horse's mouth and she's not used to it but she keeps a steady pace until another rider comes up too hard, fast, and she spooks. "Whoa, there, sweetheart," the man says, and it's all wrong, he steals the words. "Got a mean streak in her, that horse."

"Doesn't like you," River retorts. "You're the one with the whip. Hard hands that make her bleed."

He laughs. "You're a bit flighty, aren't you?" He ducks his head, so the shadow of her hat falls across his face. "That's okay, I'm not much for talking anyway."

"That's real nice for you," Zoe says, from River’s other side. Mal or her, both watching close. "Gun ququ," she orders him, tone brooking no disagreement. Man yanks his horse's head up and around without a word. River winces for her and pats her mare.

"Mother," she says softly. "But not for a while."

"Guess there's no call to worry about you, River; just don't kill anymore, _dong ma_?" Zoe wants her to look, to know she's listening. River raises her eyes.

River dips her chin. "Means 'no,'" she adds. But she can see how it would happen, neck twisting and falling off the back of the horse. Could set the horse free but she'd have nowhere to go. Be better off; he's the worst of them, hurts women too, can't seem to stop. She shudders, seeing that, as well.

Zoe veers off, letting her ride by herself, but River understands. Won't kill him, won't kill anyone 'til she's asked. Looks at Mal, and he looks back. 'Til one of his plans goes south. She smiles. He gives her a curious look; holding the reins in one hand close to his cheek, and tips an imaginary hat. Something jumps, straight from her chest to his, and if she could see feelings like a physical thing, she's sure they'd be right in front of him. But he's looking elsewhere; got a stray in sight.

"See you got yourself a fellow, girly." Now the same man's back, on her other side. "Can't say I'm surprised. Don't think he's a bit old for a young thing like yourself?"

She looks at him. "It would be very unfortunate if you fell off your horse. Embarrassing in front of men you work with. They don't like you. Make fun around the campfire at night. Nothing but bean soup and to laugh at you."

He eyes her blankly, distracted, not thinking about her words, mind filled with pictures instead: half-formed thoughts, mixed up with prairie plots of grass and a torn dress. "You are a feisty thing, aren't you, honeychild?" He grins. "I'll catch up with you later, don't you worry." He touches her knee and she kicks his horse so she jumps and he has to pretend he wanted to go ahead.

"I'm not allowed to kill you," she whispers. Horse ought not to suffer the sins of the man; consequences remain the same. Company kept, not chosen; chosen means choosing to partake.

Group stop for lunch, well past noon with the cattle pressed up against the back of a cliff. She's become a rider again, and she doesn't know how to stop. Job’s not yet over—no time to think of other things. She follows Mal down to the other end of the ravine, far from everyone else: keep the cattle tight and the three of them in isolation, close to the animals, staring them down. They eat hunched over their saddles; don’t need talk, too tired, just sitting in individual thoughts, River sharing Mal’s stew and his thoughts as well. Like the old days, like a boy or, hell, young man still thinking this is always the life he'll have; it’s worth protecting, worth giving fighting for, or dying, just to pass it on to someone else. Familiarity, just like the horses, shifting back and forth and close together, touching flanks and backing away, snorting and nodding; two eating grass while one keeps watch. Careful. Doing their jobs, holding a function. Like flying, movement replacing language.

They sit quietly, watching the cattle, and finish their meal. Horses nicker and stomp, the cows moo, filling up the silence. Let the animals talk; they have something to say. Riders circle about, always in sight, picking their path so they don’t have to make choices, or second-guess. When it’s not time to move, it’s time to stand, grass beneath the hoof and enough ahead; sky above; seems like a good day. Days and days might roll out beneath them like this, but they wouldn’t fight it none, and wouldn’t know the end of things ‘til they’d come. Things might be better this way. Might not.

"River, time to move," Mal says, and she stirs. The riders are moving the cattle up the ridge of land. Easy enough, they're ready; seen enough grass now, not worried about leaving it. They walk ahead, needing little prompting, and the riders are lazy and tired in the afternoon sun but it doesn't matter because they're all of the same mind: cows walk, because walking seems right; horses know the day's half over and the barn is closer every day; riders thinking of other things, sun at their back, their presence on the prairie taken for granted, taken for a nap. 

"Potential," River says to Mal, when he rides up next to her. "If it doesn't drop, it can't accelerate. Where does all the energy go?"

He isn't bothered by her musing. Odd things come to mind, out on the trail when all you see is weeds on hills. "Talkin' about the cattle, little Albatross?" He offers a flask of water and she takes it; tastes odd, like licking rocks. He takes it back; does not touch her hand.

She shrugs. “Think we’re unfriendly, don’t join the group. Don’t carve out a place; carry it with us.”

He drinks, just a sip, never enough to hydrate a whole man. “That’s so,” he says. Doesn’t sound wrong to him.

“Drink more,” River says sharply. “You might dry up and blow away; won’t be able to catch you on the wind.” She turns away.

“River,” he calls her back, tone in his voice that says he’s seen a need. A shadow falls across his eyes, forehead, and he watches her closely. “Don’t get caught up in my worries. Best you be thinking about yourself.”

She turns her horse back to him, stops at his side so their knees press; their horses sniff each other, rub neck to rump, tired and sweaty. “Safer,” she says softly, head tucked up under the shade of his hat so she can smell him, almost taste the moisture coating each breath. “Think about you, don’t get lost in myself.”

“Who’s to see to you, then, little one?” There is a crease between his eyes, like the worry he told her to reject.

“You’re my captain,” she whispers, knowing what she feels but not how to say it, not sure how to separate what she wants and what he might give; the reality of the future blurry and shaken by desire. Too personal; time to back away. He stares at her. She smiles shyly, and nudges her horse to move on. “Have a job to do, cap’n,” she reminds him, teasing. “Promise to keep!”

*

Mattherson makes the announcement they would be turning back; he had all the cattle he expected to round up, meant to be back on the ranch by Friday. Asks for volunteers to ride ahead and start the barbeque, invite the town and tune the fiddles; a cheer goes up, loud, lots of dust kicked into the air.

Mal and Zoe sit down with Mattherson and Mindy at the campfire, and talk over their deal once more, turning smoke to solid. River sticks her feet in the tiny stream, back to a tree, where men’s voices join the buzz, ripple, ribbet, croak, shuffling movement of large bodies moving together. Larger scale doesn’t make single things insignificant, just quiet. Experience—five senses—instead of planning, knowledge, clouding up her head.

Makes it harder to hear someone sneaking up at her back. Still manages to startle him, though, when she swipes the side of his head with her foot and presses it, hard, against the tree. It’s the same drover from before. “You are very bad at this,” she tells him. “Should keep to your own business.”

“Girl like you shouldn’t be on a cattle drive,” he mumbles, between his lips flattened against the bark and the spit in his mouth; hardly a manly way to talk back.

“Girl like me belongs with her husband. Man who aims to rustle off another man is less than worthless; ain’t deserving the name of man at all.” River pushes harder for a moment, then steps back. He spits on the ground, cursing. “This territory is staked out for claim, so git along, _hun dan_.” She crosses her arms, and feels Mal at her back, his approach made in silence. 

Mal waits until he’s shuffled away; angry at picking poor prey. “It does baffle me some how you can make yourself so clear when you take a notion to, Albatross.”

She looks at him, arms still crossed across her chest. It’s cold, windy, now, and getting late. The man stole her moment, and now Mal looks at her differently. Feels an oddness, creeping up her chest, like tears, confusion. “Don’t see the moment, always,” she says carefully. “Sometimes see the picture, sometimes the details. Altogether later, just like you.”

He cocks his head, and drops his own arms so he can extend his hand to her. She falls into his chest, surprising him. “Hey.” He holds the back of her head. “Hey, darlin’, what’s this about? That man hardly stood a chance and we both knew it.”

“You a reader, too?” Her voice is thick and strange, but he snorts. She steps back, and he smiles, and her eyes stop blinking. “Always chance, Mal. Future’s never certain.” He looks back at her, face drawn grave, and she wrinkles her nose to make him smile again.

“Certain is, we’ll be back to the ranch by the end of the week, and there’s no getting out of this shindig Mattherson’s throwing. Don’t need a psychic to tell me that.” He takes her under his arm and pulls her back to camp with him.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Smoke, rising almost from inside the ground; smells of beef roasting; sparks of fire floating in the sky. The sun just setting: purple, pink, blue, black, and yellow. There will be dancing; feet ready to shed hard work and many days of sameness. Hunger. Anticipation. Singing. It flows all around her.

River gasps and closes her eyes.

"This would be a downright terrible time for her to go all crazy," Jayne says.

She points at one of the wooden tables. Doesn’t have to open her eyes.

"Corn pudding!" Jayne says, with a whoosh of breath. "Like mudder used to make!"

Mal stands silently by her side, but Simon is anxious. "River, are you all right?" Simon asks, in her ear. She brushes him away; it tickles.

"She's just enjoyin' the night, atmosphere an' all, aren't ya, River?" Kaylee pulls on Simon's arm.

"Go, Simon," River says. "Husband's job to take care of his wife."

She feels Mal cringe. No one moves. "Go on," he says gruffly. "Enjoy the party." Feels them leave, feels Mal take her hand. "River. Enjoying yourself?"

Doesn't answer. Doesn't have to. He understands.

"There they are, Mindy! The Reynolds! Our newlyweds!"

River opens her eyes. Mattherson and Mindy bustle towards them. "Isn't real," she says.

"It's real enough," Mal says sternly, pulling her forward by her hand. "Real enough to pass."

She looks at him quickly. "It is?"

"Well, we're all crew, ain't that right?"

"You’re the captain," she says.

"Thought it was Husband this time 'round," he grumbles. Finds it almost funny, after all this time. Doesn’t mind holding her hand, accepting the smiles.

They're taken in by generosity. Married folk, eager to give strange advice, pull River aside, whisper words of the secrets; she’d hear more, but Mal tugs on her arm, looking nervous, thinking of Simon. Marriage is a very long walk, they say. Best not set out thinkin' you’ll ever shelter from the stormy parts of life.

People swirl around, and Mal's keeping track, keeping hold, like a family, like the head; River decides they’re happy, starting a new life; feels real enough, like he said. Kaylee and Jayne eating everything in sight; even Simon's drinking. Zoe's watching Mal, watching River to see that she doesn't make it not go smooth. River doesn’t take it personally: Zoe not wanting to watch the party, feel her old self, out there, enjoying things. Things are too smooth now and she doesn't know what to do with herself—never did, never knew how not to be a soldier until him—him, all she can think about, him.

But then there's dancing; River's feet feel louder than Zoe's thoughts, and she follows them to the middle of the barn: all the big doors, thrown open wide; smells like hay newly swept, covered with streamers, and the soft light of lanterns.

Three fiddlers and two guitars; music was never her thing, it was always the dancing; River's thrilled, because already it's all lines and patterns. Four to the right, sway, four to the left, swing around, do it again, dance a square. Follows the rhythm of all the other people crowded into the barn; doesn't have to listen, doesn't have to think; dancing is all she feels. She's breathless, learns two new patterns, and then it's a square dance and everyone has a partner.

River runs across the floor, weaving feet and ducking hands, to Mal. She pulls his glass away. "Dance with me!" she gasps. Her hair becomes hair again, lies flat against her head with sweat. She pushes at it impatiently, reaches for Mal's hand as he resists. He's breaking the rhythm.

"Sorry, little one. I'm near to certain I couldn't keep up with you." Doesn't want to; thinks he won't try. Glances at Zoe, amused and worried at the same time.

"Go on, now, son," Mattherson encourages, slapping his back hard like a shove. "You can't turn down your wife when she looks like that!" Laughs, loudly, face all red but not his eyes.

"The steps are in your head," River persists, pulling frantically; doesn't want to lose her place. "Used to go to barn dances and stay all night. Sometimes wake up in the hay."

Mal gives her a look and she just shrugs. "Sometimes alone, sometimes not."

"Get yer butt out there, sonny boy!" Mattherson insists, and Mindy leans in, and adds, "Slap the fire outta him if he don’t, damn fool thing turning that girl down."

Zoe raises her eyebrows. "Sounds like a sound argument. Sir." She gives Mattherson a significant nod and Mal's done convincing.

"Hurry!" River cries, and yanks him with her into place.

He shuffles through the first steps; uncertain, rusty; not sure his memory's correct; body doesn't remember the old one; it’s a young man’s game, back in his idealistic, carefree days. She follows the patterns he makes, falling into his wake, feeling the air shift back and forth between them, hands together then apart, bodies close and then farther. Connected across their hands, whirling circles, linking arms. And then she looks and their boots are hitting side by side, no plan, just how it is, they're sharing the same place and they dance together. Side by side, front to back, she loses sight of him for a minute and then he appears again to take her hand. Through the arch of people, her shoulder touches his side; he spins her in a circle and she starts to laugh; it bubbles up that way.

Sees Kaylee, Simon, Zoe watching. Like a kaleidoscope through all the dancing people: Kaylee grinning wide and merry; Simon's mouth open. River feels the approval of the Matthersons from here.

Turns back just in time to link arms with the captain, sees the steps like pictures instead of numbers in his head; takes her with him and doesn't think about the next step: like a journey, not a job. Moves to fast to be distracted by older knees, torn joints, muscles worn down; used to fighting not dancing. Looks into her eyes and thinks he's someone he used to be.

But the song ends, breaks the spell. Mal smiles at her and pulls her off the dance floor, tells her he'd best get to a chair before he falls down. "Captain!" Kaylee exclaims. "I didn't know you knew how to dance! You look so shuai out there!"

Dance, drink, memory, confusion: Mal tucks her in close to his side without thinking, leaves his arm around her shoulders; resting. Turns Kaylee aside with his comment about toe-steppin': nothing like dancing at fancy shindigs, he says; thanks Mattherson and his fine wife in the next breath: nice dinner and dance. River feels tight, too tight, in Mal's grip. Can't go spinning off into the world, feeling the ground beneath her feet and the wind taking care of her hair. Feels sticky, hot, like a real person not a girl who talks to a ship. Breathes deep; man-sweat, poly-fiber, fresh dirt; touches his beating heart through his skin. So strong, loud, that it escapes from inside there. Calls to her even though it's locked in. Feels her limbs go limp; if she could melt into him she wouldn't feel hemmed in.

Simon's voice at her ear. "Are you all right, River?"

"River's not here," she says faintly. Mal shifts his arm down, pulls her up by the waist so her head falls away from him. She looks around, blinking hard. "Are we there yet?" she asks.

"Think it's time we got back to the ship," Mal says. Zoe stands up.

"River, come on," Simon says, trying to take her out of Mal's arms.

"Stop it, Simon." River slaps at his hands. Simon raises his palms and steps back, worried.

"Shush, you two," Mal says. He covers for Mattherson. "Think they stop their squabblin' once they reach a certain age."

River's eyes are drawn to Mindy's stomach. "Hoping to find that out for themselves," she murmurs. "Be lucky."

Before the Matthersons have a chance to respond, Mal scoops River up. "Think she's plumb worn out. Been ill...not so long ago."

"Oh, poor thing! I had no idea!" Mindy protests, standing.

"Best be gettin' her to bed."

"Certainly." River shifts in Mal's arms so Mattherson can shake his hand. "I'd sure like to get together and talk real business with y'all tomorrow, sir." Tilts her head back, looks at the sky. Knows the job is theirs.

"Beautiful here," River says, and tightens her legs around Mal's waist.

"Sure is, little one." Carries her toward home.

River rests her chin on his shoulder and watches her hair flip, up, down, against his brown coat. The air is cold; her arms are bare, but there’s warmth against her chest. Physical certainty: body heat shared, but more than that. Doesn’t bare scrutiny. It just is.

Simon says, “You shouldn’t have taken her. She’s—I have no idea whether she might relapse, and now she’s exhausted.”

“Worry, worry, doctor,” Mal interrupts. “Ain’t gonna help her get better, you keep her locked up. Girl needs as much freedom as she can grasp.”

River smiles, tucked under the cover of hair. "All right, I know you're awake," Mal says, setting her down. "You've got your own two feet."

River laughs. "But I like when you carry me." She lets go, doesn’t want to cling, wants to stand on her own feet like him. ‘Cause she can, found that out for herself. She smiles at Simon, ducks away from him. Walks the rest of the way to the ship.

*

Last breakfast. “Sure am gonna miss good planet food,” Kaylee says. “Guess it can’t be helped it’s a mite...sloppy, and all.” She looks at Simon, looking at River. “Morning, River! Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you,” River replies. Mal’s not in his place at the head of the table. She passes quietly through to the bridge.

“We leaving?” River asks, and pets the head of Wash’s tyrannosaurus rex. Mal nods at her, forehead scrunched up over the numbers on the nav-set. River curls up in the co-pilot's seat, brings up the screen.

"We good?"

"Everything's shiny, Captain,” she replies, the plan in mind. It’s a hop cruise to the other side of the planet to pick up Inara and bring back supplies. Have to spend some money to make any, Mal says.

He glances over at her. "You look a mite..."

"Odd?" River looks up at him briefly. "The girl is odd."

Mal's eyebrows rise. "I conjecture you're talking about yourself. Not sure I prefer that."

"Odd, but all right," River adds. "Everything's shiny, Captain," she repeats softly, and, "Hold on, Mal. Don't want to fall." They lift off the ground.

"Odd is right," Mal says under his breath.

She laughs softly. "Odd is right. Odd is all right."

"One or t'other," Mal agrees amiably, swiveling his chair. He gives her a look when he catches her watching.

"Almost through," she observes. The atmosphere begins to burn around them.

"Ain't we just," he replies, as always; leaning on her chair, head tilted up; watching for the sky, the stars. And she smiles when they break through and feels the same way he does. For a moment it’s what they share, just them. He pauses. Thinks, last night...best left last night. She's still wearing the same outfit. Still looks like a wife. He gets up. "Let's go see what we have to eat."

"You want me to change," she says. He looks at her.

"Seems a bit odd," he says, carefully.

"Know what you have to say. Ain’t your wife. Ain’t your body guard. Not second in command, either."

Mal surveys her steadily. "Maybe not that blunt, but that's about the sum of it, little one."

"Can't turn off my watching just to be convenient. I still have eyes. You can't take them away. Don't know how to."

"River, I don't need keeping. You're a part of this team now, you best be looking to yourself."

River likes what he says, but something's not yet in its place. "I could drive myself crazy."

Mal's focus shifts. "And that'd be a, well, that'd be bad, I can see." He continues hurriedly, "Mayhaps you could look after your brother. He seems to need a lot of keeping."

She shakes her head, looking as intense as she can. "Not looking to take Zoe's place. Don't want to guard someone, or stand in the way. Tired of watching Simon touch Kaylee."

"That might be more than I want to hear."

"Not body guard," she insists. Maybe if she repeats it, repeats it again, he'll start to hear. "Not second in command. Something else."

He looks at her carefully. “And what is that?”

She’s already reaching up, standing quickly in front of him, on her toes. She kisses him, very lightly, like the other times, only on his lips, so she jumps back before he pushes her away. Mal's face looks like dismay, but his feelings are jumbled, not mad. "Whoa. Whoa! That's what this is about?"

River tilts her head. Seems so simple. Likes to hear the words. "Not pretend. Like it is—like it’s meant."

He pauses; thoughts go blank. "Are you old enough to be making this decision?"

River stills, to be sure she understands. "Yes," she says simply.

"I don't believe in romance among my crew. I reckon it might look as though my rules can bend, but in point of fact..."

River watches him talk. He gets all flustered, looks confused but really isn't. Not where it matters, not way inside.

He stares at her. "I get the uneasy feeling you have an answer to every one of the arguments I might be making."

River tries to explain. "Still works in the end."

" _Shi ma_?" Mal eyes her more carefully. "You know that for a fact?"

River pauses. "No. Future isn't linear. Not one path--too many variables." She starts to smile for him. "But it could come together. Form a union. I pick that way. That way's the best." She studies him, his pose, set back on his heels so he leans away from her. Cocks her head. "We have to choose together," She says. Timing's off. "You're not ready. I can wait!" She sits down, takes control again. Almost time for re-entry.

" _Sa gua, wo cao_ ," Mal says, behind her, with that blank face again. "Oh, no good can come of this."

River doesn’t look up. "Heard that. Go eat breakfast. Need your strength.”

*

Kaylee asks River to "keep her company," stay on the ship, and River understands Mal's behind it. Doesn't want to be alone with her again.

Kaylee’s easy company; her mind’s not noisy—the inside's the same as out. Thinks about the one she's with when she's with 'em. Listens to the engine: long as she hums, she feels safe; feels like who she is. Plays games: the only part of back home she misses, and Mother stopped letting her play long before she left it.

She hauls out chairs to set up on the open ramp of the cargo bay. Convinces Simon, even, to come lounge for a minute. “Not gonna hurt you none to sit still,” she says. Hikes up her overalls and uncovers her bare arms for the sunshine; River curls her legs under her oldest dress, sits with her toes on the hinge, the cold part of the metal under her feet. “River, come on out in the sunshine; you’re so pale, honey.”

River shakes her head. “Medication. Sensitive to heat.”

Simon sighs. “That’s true, unfortunately.” He lifts his head up and squints up at her.

“Well, she can ‘least get a little on her feet, can’t she?” Kaylee protests. “Little patch of sunshine, if you stretch out your legs, honey.”

River stretches out her legs slowly, so her thighs are cold and her calves are lit up and golden. She's not going to burn, like Simon with his pale skin.

Kaylee squeezes back into the one chair beside Simon; giggles for longer than the action needs. Simon’s grinning; looks happy; feels strange to be watching them here, from where they can look back. “Sure wish we were taking passengers on for a nice long spell, ‘stead of just hopping planetside with them.” Kaylee sighs, resting her hand on Simon’s chest. “Now Captain’s gone and spent all that money to haul cattle, we’re like to be carrying the same kinda cargo over and over again. Sure do make a mess.”

"Does what he has to do," River says, examining the changing light as it works its way up her skin. "Might be pigs."

"Pigs?" Kaylee turns to give her a horrified look. Simon's face screws up, but he can't open his eyes with the sun in them. "You didn't get that from reading, didja?" She makes sight-lasers out of two fingers and shoots them out of her eyes significantly.  
River makes a face. "Just know. Don't have to read," she says irritably.

"River," Simon says, and his voice sways with the breeze. He's lazy. Satisfied. Annoying. "What's wrong with you today? You seemed so happy this morning."

"Easy job, doesn't take three. Just wanted to get rid of me," River snaps.

"You're a lot of help, River!" Kaylee protests. "Why, we might not have turned down that last man if you hadn't'a scared him off. Knew there wasn't something quite right about him."

Simon smiles slightly. "I think we might have figured it out," he says gently. "I didn't have to look to know he smelled like a sewer."

"Well, sure, but that might have been nothin'. Coulda been he had deceitful eyes, might've taken me in," Kaylee continues. "River might have saved our lives right then, Simon, don't you say no different."

Simon shrugs, silent.

River's looking into the distance, trying to ignore Kaylee. "Have no function here."

“Hello, you two—three. Hello, River.”

Kaylee leaps to her feet. “Inara!”

Inara hugs her tightly. “It seems so long since I’ve seen you.”

“Sure does. We’ve got so much to tell you!”

“Mm, I hear the Captain has deigned to carry cattle again on his ship.”

“No doubt your visit was moderately more interesting than ours,” Simon remarks, eyes still closed, his lips turned up.

She gets up, and scowls. Feels a mite tetchy.

"River, is something wrong?" asks Inara. River makes long strides through the cargo bay, up the stairs. It is wrong, it's all wrong, but she used to be able to trust her head when something told her trouble was coming. Now she can't tell, is it really there or just what she thinks? Supposed to be a psychic, supposed to fill a role. Supposed to stop being distracted by voices, memories.

River stops before she reaches the bridge, curls up in Mal’s chair at the table instead and stares at it, the wood, plank, came from somewhere, reliable, steady. Taken for granted; important nonetheless.

"River, are you all right?" Inara asks quietly, standing in the hatch. She smells like cool water, with flowers floating in it; walks like a dancer but never hears any music; thinks it her business to understand.

She rests her chin on her hard knees and doesn't move at all. "River's fine. River's reading."

Inara hesitates. "Are you thinking about something in particular?"

"Always."

"Something that bothers you?"

River stops and listens. "You using your Companion-y wiles on me, 'Nara?"

Inara’s hand drops off the hatchway. "You sound like Mal," she blurts out.

River raises her eyes slowly. "Something that bothers you, 'Nara?" she repeats softly.

Inara blinks at her, slowly. Her eyes are dark and fixed. River stands up and leaves, crawls into _Serenity_ and stays. There Inara is barely part of the ship; installed in the shuttle, she’s inaccessible, a mystery. Even River cannot see through the multitudes of curtains, both thick and transparent; River wants to hide from her thoughts: spin about, make a mess; Inara all locked in, tied up with strings. River followed the trail to unravel once, but they wound round and round and never got to the center of things. Her head is quiet, disciplined; confusing to one who finds her way with disorder and contradictions. Inara repeats lessons in her head: a Companion never hides her emotions, merely controls what she feels; a Companion is always prepared for and sensitive to her client's needs; there is no need too unexpected; the love of a Companion is a sacred pledge given freely with each contract. Knows how to take care of herself, put things together; not like River, who read all the bottles in the store and didn't know which one was right because they were equivalent, can’t even wash her own hair, keep it soft and tangle-free.

Inara’s dreams are noisy, dreams of a strong man with morals like Mal, someone worthy; thought finding him would be the hard part, thought loving him would be easy. Sees his dreams of her, too, so sure, like a reader, like she knows his thoughts are filled with her, with all of them, always, keeping him company, providing him worries; his people, and it makes her afraid to lean on him and him only. What if she’s right, and River still can’t see? What if his head is too full of other thoughts that _he_ can’t see, can’t see what River means to share, needs to more than anything?

River raises her hands in front of her face and sees how they shake like leaves, leaves on the wind, suspended in the air. But they'd have to fall, and sooner rather than later; such a thing as gravity, even in space—especially in space—they had to have rules or things didn't make sense; people don’t like just floating. River senses the change and can’t grasp it—like Mal, like Inara, waiting for the door to open, slamming the door on her grasp. But she used to be able to trust her head when something told her trouble was coming. Now she can't tell, is it really there or just what she thinks? Supposed to be a psychic, supposed to fill a role. Supposed to stop being distracted by voices, memories. _Serenity_ ’s silence doesn’t fill her head; it’s filled all full with emotion. She clenches her fingers over her lips to force back her cry and feels the tears wet her skin. Quiet, quiet, she can't hear. Something might go wrong and she would be lost here, unhearing, unthinking, no one else to keep her busy.

It takes a great deal of thought, too much, to move; she tries to breathe, focus outside her own thoughts like Simon said. Think of a peaceful place, he told her. Like what? she'd said. Home? Fields of grass that's green? No, he said slowly. What about space? You seemed to like it out there, when we clung to the sides of the ship and all you could see was black. He'd shuddered inside when he said it and she remembered. He'd been brave and terrified at once and she found it easy to let him be when they were alone like that, nothing holding them down but their fingers clutching _Serenity_ and an oxygen line from the ship.

She remembers now. Being alone but connected—being a part of something essential. Only thing to do is breathe again, and again. Love. Logic. Not the same, after all, but still connected. Inside _Serenity_. She crawls deeper into the ship, and peers out of the shaft over the cargo bay where Zoe stands with Mal.

"This here is my determined face, Zoe," Mal insists, pointing at his visage. "An' when I be determined, ain't nothin' gonna stop me from doin' what I determine to do. So don't worry."

"Ain't worryin', sir," she replies.

River watches Jayne enter the cargo bay, stomping around noisily. "Ruttin' quiet on this gorram ship!" he announces. He yanks his weight bench out from storage and starts adjusting the weights jerkily, muttering over them. Sad Jayne. River counts the openings in the grate she is watching from, and feels a deep sigh inside. _Serenity_ isn't neutral; _Serenity_ is linked to those she takes inside. Dependant. Has to make careful choices; has to stand by.

Can't help, but River can. She scoots back quickly and climbs out of the shaft by the dining area. She runs all the way down to the cargo bay, bare feet soft on the stairs. "I'll spot you!" she cries to Jayne.

He sneers. "Think you can catch a big weight if it falls, little girl?"

She sneers back at him. "Don't let it fall, big man." Jayne feels chastened, has to show her how it's done. Puts his back to the bench and pulls.

Mal glances from the two of them to Zoe. "Inara back?”

“Upstairs, tidying, things to arrange.”

Mal keeps addressing Zoe; just as well, since River doesn’t dare look. “She got another client?"

"More'n one, sounds like."

"Least someone on this boat's doin' what they're best at."

"Oversimplification," River remarks.

"Come again?" Mal turns, hesitates, and then walks toward them, hands on his empty belt. River looks up at him shyly.

"Man's first companion since his wife died. Promised to bring his girls ribbons when he came back, presents from town, ease the guilt but not by much.”

" _Shi ma_?" Mal raises an eyebrow. "See there, Zoe? We're a gorram cruise ship now, souvenirs just for a visit. Should start selling t-shirts."

"Jayne has some."

Jayne grunts, his concentration broken. "Any o' you _hun dans_ go into my bunk, you'll see what I gorram got."

"Seen it all already," River remarks again. Short term memory is faulty. "Not impressive."

Jayne drops one end of the weight bar and shouts. River giggles in response, dancing away as Mal rushes in to lift the weight off Jayne. Mal gives her a look.

Jayne lurches to his seat. "You little spying--"

"The rest of that sentence better be somethin' downright sweet an' affectionate, or you're like to make me angry," Mal intervenes. "Don't know or much care what goes on with you two, but if you ever lay a hand on that girl--"

Jayne glares. "I ain't gonna hurt her," he says sullenly.

River puts her fingers to her lips. Doesn't understand. Intentions matter. "Joking," she says softly. "Crazy," she reminds him, twirling her hand around her head. "Don't know what I mean." She looks at Mal, to see if he believes. He casts his gaze over her, up and down. "Inscrutable," she says softly. "Captain. Kidding."

"Sure," Jayne snipes. "Captain's sense of humor must be catching. Girl's not crazy no more, just got mean."

Mal’s mouth is tight, like it gets when things are passed the point of breaking. “Thought you were meant to occupy yourself with Kaylee.”

River shifts. “Didn’t want to play, passing time. Wasted.” She turns away. “Copulation is more constructive.”

Zoe smirks at Mal’s sputter. “It is at that,” she says clearly. River backs away while Zoe says to Mal, “Don’t look so surprised, sir. I do remember what it’s like.”

Events, happenstance, collide; not enough to appease. River spins and runs away.

“River.” Mal follows, down the steps to the infirmary. Reaches out and grabs her arm, spins her. She looks up at him, in surprise; never felt his touch quite like that; in her space, on a path he means to head off. She whispers, “Sir?” Meets his eyes, spins around slow, like a dance. Means to go but doesn't hurry. Hem of her dress brushes his fingers. Body tightens. He's too wary to miss her aim; a strange hesitation crosses his eyes.

"Heed my words, darlin', an' get it straight. This ain't gonna happen. Ain't right, ain't proper. Won't work."

She stares at him, feels the shock run between them, like they share air; awareness in his head underlying what he says. "Ain't proper?" she repeats. "No! Not logical!" she protests angrily. "Can't see it...use your eyes!" She shoves her fingers toward him and he jerks back. "What's proper out in the black?" she demands. "What's good manners, no context, no..."

"River," he interrupts sharply. "I may live on the ragged edge, and I ain't the boy my mama raised--"

"Your mama would've liked me." Words drop faster than she can see; Mal stares at her numb; knows it’s true and doesn’t believe. "Would've fit in on a ranch. Young, good stock though. Hard worker. Smart." The words come easier; find the pattern and shape; pick up speed. "Not so smart she got her nose in the air. Willing to buckle down. A learning spirit. Big heart, full of love that lasts--"

She can see he wants to shake her, hard, watch her head flop, teeth chatter, knees buckle; she’d fall to the ground and be silent, silent, _dou bi zui_. She stops. Mal stares at her, the space between. His heart cries out against his ribs, caged in. Not hard; not like a stone, but like a bleeding thing.

Her eyes fill with tears.

"Ain't no use gettin' het up about it, little girl." Voice flattened. Smooth surface, no edge to get under. Went too far. Pushed when she meant to pull. "I haven't been on a ranch, long time. Ain't like to happen sometime soon." He stops and points a finger into her chest, her small chest, which might cave in soon without any support for it. "You take hold of that head of your'n, River. You do your job, 'cause you're good at it. I don't begrudge you your ability to see what's inside people's heads, I'm thinkin it can't be helped, but you stay outta mine, you understand, girl?"

"I didn't mean to steal," she whispers miserably. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it."

He stares at her hard. Tries not to feel sorry for hurting a little girl --no, no, he's too loud, too much information! River closes her eyes, feels the tears leak out. Can't close herself off; she can't help but hear. Sometimes she _wants_ to.

"Not much I can do to comfort you, darlin', seein' as I'm the cause of it," he says, soft and distant. "You go find your brother. Tell him what a bad man I am. Made you cry. Could be he'll come lookin' for me with that iron jab he has. Could be I'd let 'im."

She turns and walks away, doesn't have to open her eyes; knows where she's going. When she's far enough he can't see her run, she hides, crawls into the ship and curls up around herself. _Serenity_ hums around her, uncertain what to do. She listens, waits for the answer.

***

Simon walks straight into Mal, Simon all unaware and Mal before the upset's burned off him.

"Doc, you wanna take one eye off my mechanic now and then and put it on your sister?"

Takes Simon off-guard, but he's never surprised any more. Always thinks on his feet. Like a doctor. "She's getting better," Simon insists, fiercely. "She was *happy* today."

"Can see that, Doctor." Mal's tone brooks no disagreement. "She could still use some lookin' after. Gettin' some _feng le_ ideas in that head of hers."

Simon hesitates. "Like what?"

River, watching from above, holds her breath. Thinks he should tell. "Just you have a sit-down with her, dong ma?" She hears his footsteps, ringing on the metal walkway as he stalks away.

Simon sighs. He only startles a moment when River speaks up from her hiding place. "Remember visiting Central City, getting lost in Market Square?"

Simon peers up at her. "Where did you-- have you been crawling around in the air shafts?"

"Focus, Simon," she says. "Not getting in trouble. Make Mal nervous, is all. Like those people who tried to burn us. Like the security forces in Central City."

"Well, you did talk back to them," Simon remarks.

"Been studying law enforcement. Wanted to see if they'd follow the rules."

"Yes, I remember," Simon says ruefully. "Mother was so embarrassed." He looks back at her quizzically; can’t see much more than her outline. “River...why don’t you come out, now.”

“You wish we could go back.”

Simon looks back at her, frowns. “No, I...” he stops. “River, it’s still not safe. We could be spotted so easily on Osiris.”

“Not...to go back. To put behind. Have to put away childish things. Has to see it. I'm not broken, Simon."

"Of course you're not," he replies instantly. "Not anymore. You're-- you're fixed," he says softly. "You have your own thoughts again. Know how I can tell?"

She smiles, presses her face against the metal grating and replies, "Because I'm more difficult?"

"That's it," he grins. Easy, easier to be with her than anybody, doesn't have to think about what he'd give her, what he wouldn't, what he'd give up. Nothing to prove. He'd never say no to her, even if he ought to.

”Between the ‘being myself’ and the growing up, it’s confusing, Simon,” she whispers solemnly, touching his fingers through the grate. “Can't tell from inside how the outside feels; I can read anybody, but I can't see me! Got lost in the past, forgot it was over and the day was brand new."

“I know it’s hard, River,” Simon replies. “It’s—not just you.”

“That’s the answer, Simon.”

“To what?”

She slides away. “Already underway!” she calls back to him. Simon sighs loud enough to fill _Serenity_.

*

 

Mal double-checks all the plotting. "Paranoid," River says softly, from the hatch to the walkway.

"Who's paranoid?" Mal asks, without looking up.

"You are," River answers, letting her hair fall over her face.

Looks over at her, nice ‘n easy; seems a thing might go smooth for once. "You wanna look a man in the face when you say that?"

She smiles. “Already checked,” she says, gesturing at the course. “Be there before sunset.”

She leaves. Mal doesn’t call her back; enough to know she’s not scarred permanently; easier being a bad man, long as he hasn’t harmed the girl.

*


	4. Chapter 4

She knows his patterns; knows when it’s time to stay away, provide space. Knows when he balks he’ll hold steady; knows when a straight path will turn astray; even knows he’s unpredictable just to be contrary. Mal walks through the ship, checking bits and pieces. Laying his hands on, like something holy, like belief; thinks about Shepherd Book. Pokes his head in the engine room, makes sure there ain't thing he don't wanna be seein'. Watches the engine turn. Rests eyes on what parts he knows names of. Walks over the silent cargo bay, roams the wide open spaces between the walls; feels its emptiness like a gutting hole inside him, shoves it aside; prepared as it’s going to be.

When they dock again, Mattherson is there to meet them; temporary corrals bend and tremble in their wake, filled to the brim with cattle lowing. River reins herself in tightly, afraid of their fear and sympathy of creatures locked away, bloody future plan; unknowing. Cattle aren’t her concern; Mal’s relief rushes across her cool skin, like happiness.

And Inara can’t stand by his side to shake hands. “Covetous: a lack of possession,” River murmurs, watching the dust rise in giant waves.

“What’s that, River?” Kaylee replies.

River shrugs. “Not meant for your ears, little _mei-mei_.”

_Serenity_ settles, feels full again; they fly away, with a purpose and a path. It’s all Mal wants in life—just that—yet he’s restless, and can’t understand it. Paces the corridors at night, double-checks; walks past the infirmary, where it’s very quiet. Girl sleeps light and needs her rest; Mal turns a blind eye to her brother’s absence. Mal spends long nights alone on the bridge: noticing she doesn’t come. River’s stays in her bunk asleep, so he thinks; she watches but does not speak, so it might as well be true.

It’s Inara who joins him, sometimes: lonely nights need company; Inara doesn’t let things lie. Seeks him out; now she’s seen the things Mal’s seen, talk comes more easily. Thinks it might last; and maybe could, if things were orderly and neat. She might not feel the need to pick and pry, open up his head and tidy things. Fractured pieces; sees them lying about, so she has to put them back together, rearrange everything. Ain’t right, ain’t proper thinking one person can put things back how they’re meant to be.

Doesn't matter how it starts or who starts it, doesn't matter how it ends; what's built in the middle always is.

"I don't understand you," Inara cries. "The 'verse is different now! The Parliament doesn't have a strangle-hold right now, but they will again if someone doesn't step up and stand in their way."

"Did that once, if you'll remember," Mal says. "Didn't come out so well in the end."

"The people need to be reminded, Mal," Inara insists. "They're so indoctrinated with this belief that everyone needs to live the same way." She flattens her palm on the table in front of him; quick burn of memory disintegrating before it formulates. Something real, but hard to grasp.

He shakes his head. "Ain't a one who can make that clearer. Folk have to come to some truths in their own time."

"But you're the one who broadcast the truth about Miranda!"

“Was just followin' a path someone else had started."

"You got the truth out, Mal, and it _*changed*_ things. People started to ask questions, and now they need an example. Something to believe in."

She should stop. Should leave him to mull it over, root out the glory and honor inside, but she doesn't. "Maybe, if the worlds change, you won't have to live like this anymore. You won't be forced to go around thieving to make a living."

"Wasn't forced to live any way, Inara. Was the point." Mal kicks his boots up on the table, leans back. "There were other ways, sure, but none that didn't have me takin' orders, some I was like as not to feel disinclined to taking, and none that didn't have me standing still 'til the world around rose up to shove me off my feet just as I was gettin' steady."

"Sure," she replies, too quickly, and bitter. "In my line of work, I come across that kind daily. Afraid of commitment, afraid to settle--"

She crossed a line. Mal’s voice becomes sharp, has edges. "A man can't keep his word, I'll have none of him. A man won't settle for a law that keeps him dishonest, or work for those that hurt others in sight of him, I'm inclined to respect him. A man who uses a woman's body don't belong to him for escapin' these things, a woman who gives herself willingly and don't ask no strings, I don't hold a gorram lot of respect for that either. As you well know, 'Nara. Don't you stand here on my ship an' tell me the 'verse has changed an' I should change to suit."

Inara visualizes. She sees a peaceful place, and repeats to herself that she's sitting there quietly. Arranges internally, lessons stacked in a column just like her spine: _*these are your lessons and this is your core, this is who you are stripped down to the inside, this is what no one takes away from you, something unique beyond personality and emotion*_. "It's people who change the worlds, Mal,” she says quietly.

"This is my world."

Inara’s spine is so stiff she can’t bend it in response to his tone; _wo de fozu_ , that man is so obstinate. He’s been challenged; she found the border of his soul and will not be allowed to cross it.

"This ship is my center--"

He brings that up, cuts right to the core of her, to the thing that holds her together; it scares her, like she showed the way and didn't intend it; she's always so careful, all her training; he sees through all of it.

"And there's a reason long and fabled for that. Ain't gonna change. If you conjure it will, you're loopy as any one of us is."

She’s frustrated; can't hold it in. " _Zhandou de yi kuai rou_..."

"Settle your seat there, Inara," Mal says mildly. "Can't see as there's more to do than ride it out in the black."

"You're wrong, Mal." Her voice has gone cold. What does he want? He never wants anything from her; he’s always defensive and never listens. "You fought for a bigger cause than this before. You could do it again. The battle will never be fought if there are no volunteers. You can't sit back and pretend there's no chance because it's stupid and it's cowardly and it's not your way!"

Feet itch to touch the floor, stare her down; draw his gun if she were a man; he's not a peaceful soul. Coward: brought it up because she knows it burns. "Not generally health-some for a soul to talk to me that way, Inara, but I'll make an exception. Long as it don't happen again."

She leaves, abandons him then; can't win; can't have a conversation about anything where they disagree. River watches him study the table for a few minutes, watches his trouble. She sends her comfort through the ship. He needs _Serenity_ 's presence more than to see her face now. His ship, at his back, under his feet, humming to him: clears the fog. He breathes, and it's memories he smells. Keeps him balanced, makes him get up, put one foot under the other and walk. Walks right towards her, tilts his head up to the air shaft. "River. You been watching all this time?"

"Yes, Captain," she says softly, her voice a tinny echo from inside the ship.

Looks mad, but isn't; eyes twinkle. "Come on out here, darlin'." Hears the words trip off his lips, easy now. She crawls out toward him, slips out. Helps her down, and she lets him, though she's quite capable and he knows it. She smiles at him. "Captain," she calls him. There’s nothing more to be said just then.

"Mal," he answers, because symbols mean something. Draws her back with him into the kitchen, pulls out her chair; River pours tea, fixes it right, because she can. "Reckon we'll land at Grifter 'round about noon, your figures're right again." Smiles at her. “Conjure they are.”

“Conjure so,” River agrees softly.

“Been keeping to yourself ‘round here, lately,” he remarks; hesitates over the words; doesn’t mean to order her around.

“You noticed,” she replies softly.

“Don’t take a reader to feel your absence, little one.” Her chin tucks as he sets his cup down; he lifts it between two fingers. "I do believe you're blushing," he says. “You do tend to surprise, River Tam." Shakes his head. "Just startin' to feel your own way again, aren't ya?"

She shivers, underneath her skin; tamps it down, struggles to find the meaning of the words, not to let his voice flow through her like it wants to do. He releases her chin. "You're in my head," she says, feeling her tongue press against her teeth. Holds it. Feels a part of herself float outside, above her skin. "Mite unsettling," she says, reaching for him again.

She feels him slamming shut, clamping down. Feeling rushes back under her skin: rejection overwhelming, terrifying her thoughts back into hiding. She can’t think, can’t move, can’t breathe. Tries to find a small place to stand upon, rise above and grasp for air. He stands up. Doesn't notice.

"We hit Grifter, should be a smooth exchange. Mattherson claims he’s done business there."

"Afraid to hurt me," she says. Presses empty hands to the table. "You just _*did*_."

He stops at her shoulder, looks down. "River," he says seriously. Doesn’t hedge, run in and out and around; knows what she's talking about. "I'd be a very bad man if I took advantage. You know nothin' about me--"

"'Can't open the book of life and jump in the middle,'" she quotes him. "Is wrong. Reading backward's more difficult. Slot me in. I'll fit. I'm small!"

He pauses. "Sometimes your sense o' humor leaves somethin' wanin'."

She smiles, past the trembling of her lips; looks up at him. "It's confusing," she says. "What you want, what you're ready for...not the same thing."

He gazes at her steadily. "What a man wants is one thing. What he'll do is an other."

She shakes her head. "You'll see," she replies simply.

"You are right stubborn, River. What makes you think you know what's in my head better than I do my own self?"

Gives back what he threw away, doesn’t push it away a second time because she doesn’t push it on him; freedom comes back to her limbs but she just sits. Holding the moment still. Like pulling on time in tiny strands, her hands, and stretching it out. "Already bonded, just write the words." Shivers, letting sight come back. Has Mal listening. Doesn't want to hear he has no choice in the matter; isn't what she meant: miscommunication again. "Can't see what the future brings. Don't know how to take the right path. Have to keep walking, keep finding the way. Have to believe in where it leads."

Doesn't know if it's _fei hua_ , crazy talk, or if she makes sense, but his mama taught him how to show respect whether or not he felt it. "Believin' make it so?"

"Sometimes. Believed my brother would come get me. He did."

"Gotta choose careful what you're believin', then."

"You believed in me."

"That I did."

River reads the script, the way it's meant to be. Moment has to end; they're coming. A room has more than one use; anyhow, it’s time for breakfast. "Don't forget."

"I haven't."

Kaylee enters, bringing cheerful words, and Simon, leaking guilt when he sees the captain and River: working again. Zoe comes out of her bunk down the passageway. "Plan to make contact before we land?” she asks Mal.

"Looks that way."

"Grifter is full of rocks, land and people," River says. "Obsolete docking gear."

Mal nods. "You’ll guide us in, little Albatross." His fingers touch her shoulder, and she nods. She knows. Mal has no answer; not time to make up his mind, yet. And in the space for uncertainty, there is hope for River.

*

"Thought sure these cattle’d make me upchuck my breakfast," Kaylee says. “Sure wish we could have somethin’ fresh-smellin’ to take back.”

"Weren't so good chucked the first time," Jayne replies, shoving away from the table; indiscriminately tosses his napkin: not his turn to clean up.

"Sod's a good payload," Zoe remarks. "Things fall through with Mattherson, can sell it most anywhere, get a good price. Don't shift around on its own while we're flying, don't set off any Alliance scans."

"Smells like...dirt," Kaylee says. "Smellin' dirt while you're flyin's just plain disconcertin'."

"Bringing two worlds together where they don't match."

"See? River understands."

"No," River answers, slowly stirring the jam into the mealy cheese. "Have to lift the edge. Put the pieces together again." Looks at Mal. "Contradiction. People do the opposite of what they should. Beauty in something worth fighting for, not how smooth it is."

Mal stands, pushes past her words. "Got to see a man about some dirt. Think I’ll go call him up.”

"Simon, feel like helping out in the engine room?" Kaylee leans into him. "Won’t be ready to land for awhile."

"Not true," River says, watching Mal's back.

Simon shrugs. "I won't be surprised if the captain has us all loading sod before the day is through. I think I'd better stay here."

"Well, if you're sure," replies disappointed Kaylee. "'Pears the cream is off the milk, you ask me," she mumbles.

"Kaylee!" Simon protests, nods at River like she's his excuse.

"Bodies are made to bend," River replies. "More useful. Have to practice. Once a week...or more often," she adds, knowingly.

Her brother fixes his eyes on her uneaten breakfast. “You need to finish eating, River.”

She watches her spoon turn and turn. “Mixes one way, but can’t unmix.”

Zoe followed Mal to the bridge: first time since; surprises him, feels it in the jerk of pain in his side. They pretend it’s not unusual to greet each other by the light of the stars; sometimes not sayin’ is a mercy; they are silent, while she looks out at the sky, arms crossed, ignoring Mal in her husband’s chair. He fiddles with the vid screen; it’s much too early to wave planet-side. Behind them, everyone will disperse from breakfast; Zoe waits before she asks.

"What are you going to do about River, Mal?"

"Don't expect to have to, Zoe. Girl's whip-smart. She'll see her way clear soon enough."

Zoe sighs, hard breath. Didn't expect Zoe’d see into River's mind, but she had. "What if she doesn't?"

And River listens so hard because she is frightened. If Mal makes up his mind now, she might get lost, lost up here inside _Serenity_ like before, where floating through space passes for life because that's all that there is. But Mal doesn’t say anything; Zoe doesn’t press; River feels belief rise like a pounding in her chest.

*

"Go on, get your whoring done. But you keep to mind our schedule. We're leavin' at sun-up, come rain or shine."

This exasperates Inara. "You were the one who wanted to pick up a day's work while we were on this moon."

"An' I reckon I'll be finishin' right on schedule." He’s being obstinate; she shakes her head, dismissive, sweeping her gown ahead as she walks away.

River curls her hands around the rail and stares at Mal's head 'til he looks up, impatient. "You tryin' to make a point or have you found some new an' frightenin' way to communicate, River."

"Don't need a gorram reader to tell me job might not go smooth," Jayne grumbles; straps a third gun around his waist. "Gorram job never goes smooth, don't see as it's much of a surprise."

"Not body guard," River insists. Maybe if she repeats it, repeats it again, he'll start to hear. "Not second in command. Want to play a part, same as them."

Zoe watches Mal; he carefully doesn't look up again. "Don't need you on this one, darlin'. Need you to stay with the ship."

"You hear trouble, you call us, River," Zoe calls up. "Right away."

River nods. She wants to be near him. Proximity. Can't have one thing, need another. Can't push, though; has to follow orders, most important thing; watches them leave, closes the ship. Kaylee in the kitchen with Simon, giggling; inefficient, but enjoying themselves. River has to pass through to get to the bridge; tries to be invisible but Simon looks up. "River, you want to help?" he asks. Kaylee looks over, all smiles, wanting to be alone with him. River shakes her head.

"Keep watch," she says.

"River, you don't...sense anything wrong, do you?"

"Different kinds of trouble, Simon. Sometimes on the horizon; sometimes a surprise." She shoves her hair back uncomfortably, heavy on the hot planet. Feels good that Simon turns to her, trusts her to see better than him sometimes.

Pilot's chair wasn't made for her; accepts her just the same. Wash's dinosaurs, never touched; voices mute but still there. Won't approach until they're ready, unfamiliar fingers held beneath an open jaw, not touching, not attacking, just there. "Waiting is a perfectly valid use of time," she tells the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Conversation unamusing; needs practice. River puts her hands to her lips and leans close to the console. "Experienced needed to gain experience. Backwards." She waits. Patience is required.

"River, you up there?" Mal's voice interrupts. River reaches for the intercom. "Get down here, girl, and--"

River jumps up and reaches under the pilot's seat for the gun before he cuts off. He doesn't mind that she knows where it is, he just doesn't want her using it. Necessary now. She knows. Head's clear.

Point the gun, cock it, make a loud noise, don't shoot, just a prop. Just pretend, like a game. Shoot if he says. Just listen, don't think, not your choice. Point at the man's head 'til Mal says it's all right. "River!" Simon lunges; she steps around him.

"Might wanna think about settin' down your weapons. She's little, but she'll blow your head right off," Mal says, down below.

River's hands hold steady. Don't lock, just hover. Steadiness is a matter of making allowances.

"River..." Simon is coming toward her, slowly. She doesn't acknowledge him. "It's okay now. Put down the gun." Not okay: not over. Getting too close; he'll distract her; controls her own head, now her brother’s getting in the way. "Swivel, 2.5 seconds, turn and shoot, less than 5. You're unarmed."

Simon freezes. She can hear his throat work.

Zoe has a gun, and cocks it; no problem blowing this low-down double-crossing _hun dan_ away. Mal walks toward her and stops under the walkway, looking up into her eyes so she can see he means it. "River," he says. "Put it down."

River raises the barrel. Release the trigger slowly; put the safety on. Can't give it to her brother; he doesn't even know how to hold a gun.

"Toss it down," Mal says, reaching up. So she does. Mal catches it and looks around. "Everything secure here?"

River looks at Simon. "Shouldn't sneak up," she says.

"I can see that," he says without moving. She frightened him. She's sorry; angry at the same time. Had to be done, didn't it? She thinks there might be a council in the dining area again. About her, how dangerous she could be.

Simon watches the Captain nervously. Kaylee is saying, somewhere, "She was just--well, she was protecting us, wasn't she? Like Jayne does." And Jayne gives her a funny look.

But Mal isn't thinking about that. "Get this man off my boat," Mal tells Zoe as he walks up the stairs. "River," he says. She walks toward him without his asking. Simon starts to follow and she puts out a hand.

Mal looks over her shoulder. "She's fine, Doctor."

"Don't..." She hears Simon hesitate. "Keelhaul her," he finally says. Doesn't want to sound worried.

"Never have found a keel yet," Mal muses, with a grin. He has the prop tucked into his pants, and River finds that funny. She watches his hips as she follows him back to the bridge. He leans over and puts it back in its place before he turns to her, finds her watching his bottom.

"Can't turn off my watching just to be convenient. Still have eyes. You can't take them away. Don't know how to.” She stares at him intently. The meaning of a thing can be in the appearance, though it’s less likely. "You know the words. You can control me."

Knows what she means: all the dead bodies. "Can't conjure those words will be necessary. Leastwise, not while we're on _Serenity_."

"No," she agrees. "Safe words substituted by safe place." Meets his eyes, and they're heavy. "Don't need me to explain it.”

Ponders this; looks down at her, takes her shoulders—small—between his two hands. "But I like to hear the words." Her own words returned, bringing his warmth with them. Her toes ache, stiff, pressed to the mettle of the deck; longing for movement. Knows there’s more: beyond what she has seen, can understand.

“Empty hands, pried open waiting to be filled,” she whispers, staring up so hard at him she almost sees the path he left for them, so bright it hurts her eyes to look just as much to not see him; “waits for him to take her hand and lead where she could not find the steps.” And he pulls her to him, so his lips rest on her forehead.

“River, you’re not making a lick of sense.”

“Said my piece anyway,” she replies, pressing herself close to his chest. Hands slide down, and up her spine, under her hair; potential to yield or repel until he twitches his fingers, draws her head away from him, and she kisses Mal.

Heightened emotions: loss of cognitive function. Tactile contact: hair, under fingernails; lips, rough; fingers, hard against her back and neck. She forgets to breathe; has to gasp when she pulls back; tastes Mal when she swallows, licks her lips.

He sets her gently back on her own two feet; where she belongs, he thinks. Can’t respond, doesn’t know what happens after this; stays silent. He stares at her: troubled eyes, wide open, black; walks away.

Don’t go after him, she tells herself. Can’t take it back.

*

“Man can have a rowdy acquaintance without bein’ untrustworthy his own self.”

Zoe crosses her arms.

“Captain, I don’t want River involved—“

Mal raises his hand to Simon without looking. “Might want to stop right there, Doctor, as I’m thinking the choice is up to that sister of yours. Zoe, made room for that gorram sod on this ship, I mean to haul it.”

“Can I take the grenades?” Jayne asks. He turns away. “Maybe Vera’d like to come.”

River peers up at Mal, carefully; change too deep to show outside. "Good walking day."

"Indeed it is, little one," he says, quietly, pulling on gloves. Looks down at her; level gaze; dark eyes. "Like to see the sun shine when there's thievery afoot."

River smiles. Zoe steps off the ramp, says, "Reckon you two should go on ahead. Jayne and I can mark out a perimeter."

" _Shi ma_?" Sharp gaze that needs no words; eyebrows crawl up Mal's forehead when Zoe just nods.

Mal looks at River closely. "Just you an' me today, Captain," she says clearly.

"Looks that way, Little Albatross."

Simon sighs.

"Future's what's ahead," River says. “Not what's in my head. Not a whole picture yet.” Looks at Simon. “I’ll be fine,” she adds.

Mal shakes his head; reaches out and spins her around by her shoulder, pushing her ahead of him. "Consider it a mercy not to see the long 'n dusty walk we have to town, then."

"Don't see it, Captain," River replies soberly, dropping back to tuck herself against his side. "Must have something else in mind."

Side of his mouth turns up; watches her out of the corner of his eye. "Might have, at that. Man with the rude gun left his horse behind. No need to punish the animal by leaving it behind.”

“I’ll drive,” she announces, leaping ahead to the black gelding, head hanging down. “You sit behind, hold on tight.” Giving over the lead, hands around her waist, trusting her sight. River smiles; tosses her head as she untethers their ride and looks at Mal out of the corner of her eye. Looks back at her silently for a moment; doesn’t protest.

*

She sits beside him in the bar seats; facing them, men with the itchy trigger fingers they promised to meet.

"Sure 'n we've broken faith with your courtesy now 'n understand your distrust for me, sir. My man shall be dealt with most harshly, I assure ye." Man with the feather in his hat put his hands on the table. "Mean to keep my bargain, however, with me dear friend Mr. Mattherson --how is he by the way?"

"Opinionated as to what sort of men he'll do business," Mal replies levelly. River's hand is on the gun below the table, hair brushing his arm. Men ignore her; appearance most often a reliable prediction of capability.

"Certainly, an' who's to be surprised. Have our contract legally signed here in me pocket to show ye."

"Mean to 'bide by Mr. Mattherson's contract, but I mean to get the job done right as well. What guarantee are you offering that we won't have such incidents as disturbed my ship this mornin'?"

Ignores their words; watches eyes, hands, folded across the table. Man seeking an opportune moment; he'll follow the letter of the contract so long as Mal is eagle-eyed. Mal doesn’t need her say-so, but she eases her grip on Mal’s weapon just the same.

“She’s a corker, that one. Pretty as a picture an’ quiet as a mouse. Got yourself fine help, there, Captain.”

Mal’s hand on her shoulder pushes her ahead of him out of the booth; holds her in place as he replies, “Fine ‘n right capable, as your man can ascertain.”

“An’ you to remind me, tha’s for certain.” But he smiles, raises his dark glass. “Be seein’ you bright ‘n early, Captain.”

“Sure will. We’ll be making free to use your man’s horse ‘til you do.” He held her hand until he lifted her into the saddle; swung up behind.

The horse can be tethered in the shelter of _Serenity_ , “Some slight selection of grass, anyhow,” Mal says, dismounting. “Reckon he’ll get along a few hours, anyhow.”

Takes her around the waist and she slides down so she feels his waist and hips against her own parts, matching. Mal draws a slow, careful breath; sways into him. Wants her, still hesitates. “No, River,” he mumbles, a mess of panicked syllables. “Ain’t right, girl,” he says gruffly, shoving her away. “Just ain’t right. May be whip-smart, but there’s a thing or two you don’t got figured out yet, and I’m not the one to teach you.” He shakes his head, thinks he’s got it settled—set in stone, not going to break, can’t, not and live with himself later. “Won’t make you follow the path I lead.”

She steps closer, afraid, looking for something like hope, uncertainty. Can’t spin him about, confuse him, has to be convincing. “I already am,” she insists.

“Circumstance forced you to tread with me for some time now, _baobei_ ; don’t mean it’s forever. You do this thing, you just might be stuck with me—and you deserve better.” He takes her shoulders, holds her apart. “You can have better than this, River,” he says, looking in her eyes. “It’s not too late.”

She shakes loose of him angrily. “Think to refuse me, trample on what’s freely given, treat it unmannerly. Already bound to you!” she shouts fiercely. “Bound to the ship, same as you; can’t be one without the other.” River stares at him, gripping the breast above her own heart. “Not wrong, not an oddness. Might set it down on paper, mark what’s yours already. It’s already yours, already gave it.” He blinks at her, and she whispers, “Mean to have you, Mal. Not a game, not to hide. Mean to keep you just as you keep me.”

He stares at her mutely. His lips open, close, and he blurts out, “You got any idea what I’m ‘bout to say, little one, ‘cause I got no gorram idea.”

Stares back at him, meets his eye. “Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Mean to convince you.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Never did think you were as crazy as I do right this minute, River.”

She smiles. “It’s a good kind of crazy, Mal.” She tilts her head. “If you conjure it so, Cap’n.”

His eyes narrow; harden; doesn’t want to let her in. Doesn’t want her to open up his head, put thoughts in. “Man needs space,” she declares, stepping away. “Don’t be hasty. Still be here tomorrow.” She pauses, at his side, where she wants to be. “And the next day.”

Blinks up at him, means to move away: what her intent is; feet aren’t moving. Weakness of doubt: foolishness to guess at the future. Should he say no; she’d stay, always, wondering at her place. Uncertain; unreciprocated. She ducks her head quickly: tears lead to misunderstanding; feminine wiles suspected.

Mal’s hand is under her chin and he lifts it gently. “Little one...”

“Not a scientific process,” she cries out. “Give and take. No control variables.” She sniffs angrily, and brushes at her nose. “Frustrating.”

He smiles slightly. “Think you’d be tired of waiting.”

“Stop!” she shouts. “Spoke my piece, mean to be leaving.” On tiptoes, kisses him hard as she can; he doesn’t move backwards. “It’s enough,” she whispers, and her feet can move again, into the ship, up the ramp; crawls up inside and breathes _Serenity_ ’s air.

*


	5. Chapter 5

She finds Simon in the infirmary. “River, where have you been?” he asks. “Saw you get back hours ago.” Distracted; sour moue. “Kept the Captain from getting shot, I see.” He shakes his head. “River, I wish you wouldn't go off with the captain so often."

River stands in the doorway, hands behind her back. "Bad for business?"

"What? No I just don't really think it's necessary to..." he trails off and frowns. "River. That's not funny."

"No games, Simon." River shakes her head. "Always be room for you, too. Big man, big heart."

Simon hesitates, looking at her quizzically. "I just don't want you to--ever feel that you have to put yourself in a dangerous situation. Not for some job for the Captain."

"No more risk for me than him."

Simon sighs; looks away, uncomfortable with this. "Protective Simon," River says, taking his face in her hands. "Mean to live side-by-side, not all tangled up in." She frowns, seeing the lack of comprehension. "I was naked in the river and he saved me. Alone in the valley, Simon. No one but us."

Simon looks up; she spots the rapid increase of pulse in his neck. "River..." He carefully slows his breath. "What are you talking about? Are you talking about Mal? River, has Mal ever...does Mal touch you?"

She frowns. "Looks but doesn't touch."

"You were--and he was--" The eyes flash disbelief and terror lightens his voice. Simon rakes both hands through his hair, making a mess. "River--"

River cocks her head; watches him reach a conclusion. Necessary to get out of the way: important. "Didn't want to get my dress wet," she adds, reeling him in. Wants to know the details, wants to hear the worst.

Simon feels his eyes could burst out of his head, medically impossible unless he injects himself with--and if he was allergic to it-- "That--he's *insane*!" Simon goes running out of her room and River trails his running feet; looking for the captain, doesn't know he's in his bunk getting up from sleep.

Simon pounds on the hatch; squatting over the door as though to leap on Mal's head once it's opened; River bounces on her toes beside him. "Captain? I'd like to speak to you," he calls. She pushes open the hatch and sticks her head in, hair dangling farther than she can reach. "Simon's angry, Captain," she says.

"Is he now?" Mal approaches, eye-to-eye; reaches out to set her upright on the floor of his cabin. Simon slides rapidly down the ladder. "Odd thing, Doctor: fury an' fear seem about to match on your face."

Simon scowls. "Mad enough to spit," River offers. "Might." She watches her brother carefully. Outcome uncertain; breach of secrecy and a secret not meant to be.

" _Hun dan_ ," Simon curses, "You take advantage of my sister and stand here like—"

"Whoa, hold up." Mal raises a hand. " _Gou pi_ , Doc; I only kissed her."

"Apoplexy," River observes. "A sudden effusion of blood into an organ or tissue."

Simon stops stammering. "While she was undressed?"

Mal blinks. " _Wang bao dahn_ , no, not while she was undressed!"

Simon blushes; Mal simmers down. "Did you ask the girl?"

"She--" Simon, focus. "You *kissed* my sister!"

Mal glares. "She's on my crew! I'll kiss any part of my crew I gorram want...” He quiets; River giggles, floats a picture in her head of Mal kissing Simon and calling him _baobei_. “Part of the contract,” Mal adds, reasonably. “Captain’s privileges.”

"Not a baby, Simon," River reminds her brother.

"I...concede the point, my sister might have taken part, Captain," Simon says stiffly, ramrod, straight up and down. "But your privileges as—as leader don't extend to my little sister." He says _extend_ like it's naughty.

"Never said they did," Mal replies coldly; hears the thought in Simon’s tone.

Simon's eyes narrow and make it worse. He’s furious, way down, still hurt from before; untrustworthy, he hears in his head. "I don't trust you not to abandon her if she ever has a relapse," he says slowly. "What would you do? Would you turn around and leave her in my hands if she couldn't remember she chose you?" He sees the picture, an idea in his head, of the girl wild and blinded again; an axe this time maybe…Jayne's gun Vera… _do we have a kill order? He looks better in red_ …

"I've seen River 'bout as crazy as you have, boy, so I conjure either you got some other secret you've been hiding about the girl or what you say and what you meant ain't the same thing. Either way, you better start using those pretty lips, cause I ain't a gorram reader."

All of this is making Simon nervous. His thoughts go all over the place and he can only focus on not backing away. "I don't have any other secrets," he uses his low voice, the one he can hold steady. "But she does. She has to. She may not even know yet. Are you so certain she can make her own decisions? She doesn't know her own loyalties."

The thought to speak up enters her head, but she's a ghost in the wall of Mal's bunk, exploring all the places she's never been. _Serenity_ watches and can't speak; her brother's her protector and has to protect. Isn't the time yet.

Mal eyes Simon up and down. "Do you?"

Simon's eyes narrow. Understands the challenge; not the reference.

"Without faith we all go bibbledy when we ride the rim," River says, unable to watch the walls build up when she can see to kick them down. "Loyalty; love; why she choses; why she doesn't have to. Why we're still flying when the ground tries to hold us down. Makes it easy; it just is."

Mal tilts his head at her. "Might learn a thing or two from that crazy sister of yours, Top Three Percent." He looks at Simon sternly. "We done here?"

Simon’s feet are frozen; mouth gaping; furious. "I want to know everything you've been doing with her. Any misunderstanding, any trauma could set her back *months* in her treatment, or even worse. They did things to her brain that I can never reverse. She's just beginning to hear her own thoughts again--didn't you tell me that, River?"

River shakes her head, hard, have to make it clear. "Just beginning to understand. Everything's not mixed in." She points at Mal. "Know my place, I understand. Have to chase it down, can't say no even if the job goes south."

Mal's sheepish, not embarrassed; the shrug is for Simon. "Hard to turn a blind eye, girl turns up everywhere. Can't say persistence is a thing I don't admire."

"Fine," Simon says, crossing his arms: thinks he's about to win. "If you want to be with her, you have to marry her first."

So unexpected, _Serenity_ rises up around them, holds her up when she’d collapse between the taut pull of their angry thoughts; _Serenity_ takes all the pieces and sets them upright again. River looks at Mal, and the annoyance crossing his face—and something else: can't hold the girl if she don't offer to be held, and a night or two while she's finding her way isn't near enough for him.

He knows why the boy would ask such a thing: got to protect the girl, craves security like steady ground on a moving ship. But he’s downright annoying, standing there with a face so smug it makes him ache to act contrary when mayhap he ought not. "You threatening me again, Doctor?"

"Just drawing a line, Captain." Simon's voice doesn't tremble, nor his hands; has to feel certain inside, has to maintain the moment. Hold the line; impress this man. "Not equivocating, as you might say." He glares back.

"She's _*on*_ my _*crew*_ , Doc. Ain't gonna walk away. Ain't gonna turn my back, ever. If anybody does the walkin', it'll be her."

"You dragging me behind," River adds; makes Simon flinch.

"River, I wouldn't--"

"Girl's got her own ideas, Simon, and it's not my aim to change 'em."

Simon scowls, hard as he can, screws up his face: unnatural. "River is still..." He swallows back the words, hiding uncertainty. "You'd best make yourself unavailable to her, Captain," he says bitterly, "because if _*her*_ way ever crosses that line, I will come after *you*."

Mal snorts. "That right, Doctor? Haven't broke that solemn doctorly vow of your’n'ough yet?"

"His word is his symbol." For once, she speaks her own words. They look at her. "Have to tell the mind what the heart already says." She tiptoes lightly, learns not to push; knows better. _Da bianhua_ : he doesn't smile, but their world shifts in space.

"Not right now," she whispers. "When he comes for her again, he will not leave her shelter. She will have a champion and a guardian and she will rise up against her enemies to smite them. She will not go there again, Simon. She has left the lair of men."

Mal and Simon look at her for a moment, the knowing of things lurking in the recesses of the skull, eyes determinedly blank. Mal breaks the moment, tucking the thought behind him. "See, now that there was crazy. You see me turnin' tail?”

Simon crosses his arms defensively. "You demand absolute loyalty from us, but I've seen you willing more than once to dump us off on some rock--"

"And when ya needed me, I came back!" Mal shouts. "Do you not see where you're standin' now?"

"We're only on your crew when you're in the mood for it!" Simon accuses, angry; behind, scared. Mal recognizes it, same moment.

"You ain't on my crew 'less you sign on for it, Doc." His voice changes register—means he’s speechifying. She curls her arms around her chest and tilts her head to best listen. "I've never seen the girl look back since the day she rolled on in her freezing box, an' of late your sister's made fair clear her meaning--fuzzy though her way may be, she’s a point when she comes to it. Other hand, you get yourself in a peck of trouble and you’re downright obliged to a place that's steady and movin' on. We're fine enough use for you when you feel like it." He steps back and crosses his arms. "You made yourself to be your sister’s anchor and she's rooted herself on this ship you brought her on, my ship she’s claimed as hers, but you, doctor, have not. Livin' with one eye out for somethin’ better ain’t our way, Doc, an’ I conjure you won't be a livin' part of our crew 'til the day you chose it. There ain't a lick of difference I can make by callin' you so before you are."

Simon goes white instead of red; always has, since they were children, sitting by the fountain pretending not to hear the girl talk. Her brother turns away and River kicks the wall. Mal's toilet falls open. "Stupid Simon!" she yells.

"Settle down, River," Mal corrects her quietly. "Man's got his own time."

Simon avoids Mal’s eyes; makes her climb the ladder in front of him and gives her a hard look when the hatch is shut. Things changing in his brain: slow, hurts him. “Necessary. Important,” she whispers to him, clutching at his hands. "Don't have to believe now," she says. "Have to believe you will."

He opens his mouth to comfort her instead and she pulls back. He calls after her, “River, I’m sorry, I...don’t understand. I want to, I—“

River looks over her shoulder. “Understanding is a consequence! Disbelief is a state of mind, Simon,” she snaps. Irritated, she throws up her hands, and with a shrug, flounces away. “Men!”

*

Doesn’t leave her alone after that. Simon always at her back; trailing her steps. Leaves Kaylee deserted and lonely; feels case off, forgotten in the engine room ‘til in Jayne eventually wanders. Simon wary, Mal tense: makes the whole ship quake with anxiety. “I’d marry him if he asked,” she tells him clearly, curled up with him in her bunk. "Not really giving away, Simon. Just symbolic."

Hands tremble in her hair. “River, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.” He sounds tired. Scared. Scared he should put his foot down; scared he’d be wrong if he did.

“Man and woman join together for work, work together to be joined. The formula is simple, Simon,” she remarks. “Correct figures add up.”

“But River,” Simon says slowly. “The captain may not feel the same way.” A pause, and he pulls the hair off her forehead with long fingers. Possession; he’s thinking of not having, soon. Beginning to believe. “Or does he?”

“Mal thinks in his heart but doesn’t say. Have to wait, content myself with the being not the having. Time will out, Simon.”

“River...” His head rests on her shoulder for a moment. “You are very, very grown-up.”

“Know what love is, Simon. Had my brother to show me the way.”She scoots out of his arms and off the bed. “Had to be good for something.”

*

“I’ll sign the papers and thank you for the courtesy, but we’ll be doing the loading our own selves.” Mal stands aground with arms crossed across his chest; stern expression aimed toward the man with the brogue. “Don’t much cotton to having your men back aboard my ship.”

“I understand ye, sir,” the man began, and he went on for several minutes, as Mal hands Zoe the contract to look over once more, then signs it on the lumpy surface of their new cargo.

River wraps her arms around herself. Simon at her side, like usual, standing in the mouth of the ship. “Cold?” he asks.

“Storm coming.” She lifts her nose as the wind picks up, blowing her hair. “Need to break atmo before dawn.”

“All right,” Mal calls up, turning his back once the men drove off their mules. “Let’s get this cargo loaded, we’ve got a storm to outpace and not a surplus of time to do it. That means all my crew, Doctor.”

Least her brother’s learned better than to hesitate at an order from the captain; he lets go of River’s arm and meets Mal’s gaze as they pass. Must not have malice in mind, though, for Mal’s eyes are clear when he stops in front of her, and asks, “You mapped the next leg of our passage yet?”

She nods. “Three days.”

“Sounds ‘bout right.” He sees Simon still watching and shifts the bag over his shoulder, casually hitching his step as he moves away.

“Oh, lookit the flowers!” Kaylee calls out. “Aren’t they pretty? River, come look.”

River looks behind her, Inara approaching from the depths of the ship. Best not appear as a Companion in front of mixed company, Mal says. Inara smiles at River, appearing surprised when River holds out her hand, but walks with her down the ramp over to Kaylee and her open boxes. “I didn’t know we’d be haulin’ live plants, Cap’n!” she calls up to Mal.

“They’ll all be dead by the time we get them back,” Inara remarks, touching white petals.

“Just the ones in bloom,” Kaylee says. “They’ll still blossom when we get ‘em in the ground. Bet these are for Miz Mattherson. Sure nice to see a man knows how to treat his wife right,” she says loudly. She plucks a flower and tucks it into River’s hair.

Jayne intercepts the words before they reach Simon. “Ah, hell,” he said. “I’ve known more men give flowers to a whore than a wife.”

Mal glances over. “Ladies, I s’pect you can manage to lift that crate between the three of you, as you don’t seem occupied otherwise.”

Kaylee lifts her arms in frustration. “You got no finesse, Cap’n.”

Inara laughs lightly. “Come on, Kaylee. I can help.”

“Oh, no, you surely won’t. You’ll scrape up your pretty hands. River an’ I got it, don’t we, River?”

River tilts her head, realizes Mal’s still watching her. “Surely,” she replies.

White flowers in her hair fall out as she walks, crate in hands. River wrinkles her nose. "Problematic," she says. "Not necessary. What's the point?"

Simon picks one up, walking behind her. "You look beautiful, River."

"Put them in *your* hair," she retorts.

"Reckon the doctor's afraid of looking silly," Mal remarks. Simon refuses to banter with him; keeps his eyes on River. "Reckon how you look a sight better than he would, just the same, little one."

She tucks one behind Simon’s ear, smiles. “Suits him best,” she says.

Kaylee giggles. “Ain’t right, he should be prettier than me.”

Simon blushes; lets the flower fall back into his hands and offers it back to River; takes it and hands it to Kaylee. She holds it up to her nose in delight, “Thank you, River.” Her nose flares as she looks at Simon. “Seems somebody taught you how to treat a girl.”

“Kaylee, leave the boy alone,” Mal interrupts, ignoring the ensuing surprise. “Might not have his head on proper, but he means well enough.”

“Thought we were supposed to be in a hurry,” Jayne grumbles. Between them, he and Mal carry a roll of sod. “Ain’t a useful thing ever came out of flowers,” he scowls, on his way out again. “Gorram ship full of women and men turnin’ into ‘em,” he curses under his breath.

Simon follows River down the ramp, pausing by the pile of damp boxes. “Captain,” Simon begins.

Mal looks at him. “My first priority is to get this cargo stowed, Doctor.”

Simon nods. “Yes. I know.” River takes his hand; darts up to kiss the captain on the jaw and laughs when he nearly drops his heavy sack. Simon pulls her away hurriedly.

*

He waits until they’re in the air; eyes troubled; needs to have it said and doesn’t take a reader to know it. Mal comes to the infirmary where River’s watching Simon organize again.

Simon swallows, carefully places the scalpel down. Even now, he forms the words; has to be brave; has to mean what he says. Her brother tells himself: can’t control everything. "I guess, I just wanted to say...if you're that committed, Captain. And seeing as my sister has made it clear how she feels. I...concede you've proven yourself worthy of taking care of her."

Mal stands fast, silent; Simon’s thoughts turn nervous, his face blank. Finally, Mal speaks.

“Occurs to me, Doctor, that you an’ the girl havin’ each made the same generous offer, I’m not much of a man if I can't accept. Takin' what's on offer and not payin' my debt isn't--" Sounds like Shepherd talk; the back of his jaw tightens. "It ain't my way, Simon.” He pauses.

“So, that means...”

Mal looks to her. “Means belief,” River says. “All in one, altogether. Means yes.”

Quick sharpening of his gaze on her makes her feel warm, beads of sweat on her skin though her bare thighs are cold against the metal bed. Thoughts of sin flash through his head too fast for her to catch. “Rightly so,” Mal says.

Simon nods, shoulders tense. “I…” He clears his throat. “Yes. I understand.”

”My brother thought to rescue me, keep me safe, not raise me up and plant me somewhere else.”

Mal raises his eyebrows, looks at Simon. “No need for that, Doctor.”

“No.” He glances at River; spine is straight but not stiff, means to stand up straight but not to look less scared than he is. Looks at the captain. “No, I expect we’ll both stay right here for some time yet.”

“Expect so,” Mal replies. “Got a preference for my crew to remain aboard my ship.” He nods; River goes to his hand when he opens it.

“You gonna marry me?”

Mal hurts his neck turning when she asks. “That part of this deal?”

She raises her own eyebrows. “Don’t see why not. Isn’t another man I’m offerin’ myself to. Isn’t a good reason to cleave to my fugitive name.”

Simon sighs. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“Your sister’s downright stubborn, Doctor.”

“Fits in,” River says. Content. “Man wants to hold a thing, has to stand up and let it be his.”

“Not thing, darlin’,” he says; looks at her with dark eyes. “Woman.”

“Actual and whole,” she replies.

*

"Are we all here, now?" the preacher asks.

"Sir, do you really mean to marry the girl?" Zoe asks, staring hard at Mal.

"That I do, Zoe," Mal says, and his spine straightens. He turns toward the preacher, smooths his lapels and tugs lightly on his tie. "Let's get goin', Preacher."

River steps up beside him. Simon and Zoe, standing across from each other, are rigid. "Sir," Zoe speaks up urgently. "Where's the rest the crew?"

"Just us here, Zoe, all nice and cozy," he says calmly. "Conjure a fancy shindig won't be necessary."

"Wait and see if it takes," River explains. "Don't worry," she adds with a quiet, detached certainty. "It will."

Mal takes a breath, like maybe he doesn't like her talking that way. Tells himself it's honest; likes that about her. He nods at the preacher.

Preacher's unimpressed; he marries crazy people every day. "You'd like me to skip past the whole praying part, I understand." He clears his throat. "If you'd like to say your vows, then."

River and Mal turn to each other. River stares at him for a long moment.

Simon shifts his feet, leans toward her. Makes her hurry. River tries to find the words, pluck them out of the air where they're floating; they keep jumping out of the way. "Know what to say, not how to say it."

The corner of Mal's lip turns up. The preacher offers, "Usually one just looks for a declaration of free will and intent in this sort of thing."

River comprehends. "Unmolested recognizance," she vows. She looks at Mal expectantly. Looks into his eyes, sees he's not there. Thinking too much; afraid of backing out; afraid of standing still.

She kicks him in the foot.

" _Go-se_!" He straightens up.

" _Dong ma_?" she demands.

He smiles, just a reaction, but she smiles back at it. Can’t hide from her. "I understand,” he continues firmly, "Don't have the fancy words of my intended, here, but I wouldn't be here, an' on my own two feet, if'n I didn't want to make her my wife. Permanent and bound."

River listens to the words. Listens to how he means them. Proud and honest and true, all the way through.

Simon snorts. "Well, that's romantic."

" _Bizui_ ," she says. Thinks it sharply, but it doesn't come out angry. Hard to be. Before, it was all possibility; now the words have been spoken, it's her wedding day. "Respectful voice. In a church," she reprimands. Mal glances around briefly, taking in the ramshackle establishment on the edge of the town. But he knows what she means.

The preacher clears his throat again. "Well, now, you aren't exchanging rings or symbols of some kind, then?"

River looks up. "His symbol is his word." Has no foresight; the moment is now; it’s strange and difficult to find the reply.

"Then, by the power vested in me by the Holy Order and the Allied Government, I now pronounce you, Malcolm Reynolds and River Tam, married man and wife. Witnesses need to sign the cortex file or it won't be legal. I have another union to perform before sundown, if you don't mind taking your celebration outside. Nice little diner next door, tell them you came from here and get a discount."

They walk back to the ship in pairs, and River walks with her brother while Mal walks with his second. "Don't you want to walk with...with..." Your husband? Simon says, but can't say it. "With Mal?"

"Want to watch his shoulders, see if they droop," River answers. "Don't want him to regret it while it can be undone."

Simon can barely walk beside her, he's so confused. "Don't know what to think, don't know if it's right," she says softly, not taking her eyes off Mal.

Simon picks up on this quickly. "River, if you're not certain..."

"Not me," she says sharply. "I know. You. Him. Her. Everyone. You'll see. Just take time." Simon's almost sorry to hear her words. "Have to put the plan into action before you see how people react."

"Sometimes," Simon agrees slowly.

"Most times," River retorts. "Find out about people like that. First answer's not always true, action brings reaction. Science, Simon," she says impatiently.

He watches the buildings as they're passing. "I know, River." He watches the buildings as they pass. "Actions speak louder than words, don't they."

She frowns. "No."

He smiles slightly. "Not literally."

She takes her eyes off Mal and Zoe for a moment to scowl at him. "Win her over if he's sure. With words. Just like you."

Simon's eyes flicker, because he knows it's true.

"So what you're saying is, she's been courting you?" This River hears, with her own ears, because Zoe's amused and speaking loudly. Their voices drop again and River has to guess, watching the way they move.

"Doubtful it woulda happened if it wasn't her made the first move," Mal tells her. "Girl has a powerful will of her own, seems like all I did was settle on her logic." He pauses, and Zoe waits, because she knows more's to be said. "Idea'll take some breakin' in. Not gonna go casting the news far yet, or wide, neither."

Zoe looks at him, and he conjures she's doubting his word. He pulls away defensively. "Ain't a secret, Zoe. Just a easin' into." His stride lengthens, and Zoe adjusts her own to pace him. River holds her brother back, letting the space between them widen. "Not that I ain't proud to--gorramit, Zoe. Ain't nobody need's the adjustin' but me. Take some gettin' used to, havin' a--a wife. A real one, anyhow. One I want. Never thought I--" His thoughts are all fragmented, she can't put them together for him. Zoe lets him talk and River lets him be lost, and neither of them try to help. Man's gotta get his head on straight by himself. "Never thought I'd speak it out, make it official," Mal says finally.

"She might be a reader, but she's real young," Zoe comments. "Sir."

Mal turns his head over his shoulder, at River drifting in his wake. "I married her, didn't I? Don't see how intentions can get much more honorable."

Zoe raises her eyebrows, and her jaw loosens slightly. Now Mal looks at her. "This ain't gonna be a problem," he says. "Is she?"

Zoe shakes her head. "No, sir. Think it might get a mite entertaining."

Mal grimaces and looks away.

"Seems real sudden," she says finally, soberly.

Mal sighs. "Well... it really ain't, at that." River quickens her step to catch up to his outstretched hand.

"Still fighting for the girl, then, sir?” Zoe, in an undertone.

Mal takes a breath; River slides her palm where it belongs; for a moment, the sense of things seen and things that don’t fit are in both their minds. Zoe knowing it better than both, maybe.

"Still fighting, Zoe," he replies; seems enough for all of them.

River walks by his side toward the ship, tilts her head and tries to catch the thoughts in his head: moving into his bunk, careful with the girl who’s a virgin. Smiles because she expects she’ll pick up fast enough; time to practice what she’s seen in the air ducts.

Later, they will curl up in shelter, she on his lap, watching through the windows of _Serenity_ as the darkness of space passes by.


End file.
